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J^LWER  COLLECTION 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


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THE  HAUNTS  OF  MEN. 


"  How  shall  we  seem,  each  to  the  other,  when, 
On  that  glad  day,  immortal,  we  shall  meet — 
Thou  who,  long  since,  didst  pass  with  hastening  feet — 
/,  who  stHl  wait  here,  in  the  haunts  of  men  f  " 


THE  HAUNTS  OF  MEN 


BY 
ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 

Author  of  "The  King  in  Yellow,"  "  The  Red  Republic,"  "A  King 
and  a  Few  Dukes,"  "Lorraine,"  etc.,  etc. 


» 


NEW  YORK 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1895,  by  Bacheller,  Johnson  &  Bacheller. 

Copyright,  1896,  by  S.  S.  McClure  Company. 

Copyright,  1897,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

Copyright,  1898,  by  Peter  Fenelon  Collier. 

Copyright,  1898,  by  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Copyright,  1898,  by  Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company. 


As  a  Black  Veil  of  Lace, 

Parted  in  sombre  grace, 

Shadows  a  pallid  face, 
So  shall  the  Veil  of  Night, 

Dimly  withdrawn, 
Shadow  the  coming  Dawn. 

Changed  are  the  ashen  skies, — 

The  clearer  blue 
Deep  mirrored  in  thine  eyes 

Is  changing  too. 

If  the  dim  Dawn  be  fair, 
Can  its  pale  flames  compare 
In  glory  to  thy  hair  ? 

What,  in  the  jewelled  skies, 

Matches  the  dyes 
In  thine  uplifted  eyes  I 

Out  from  the  splendid  night 

Bright  as  a  spirit's  flight 

Thou  com'st  with  the  Light. 

And  in  the  East  the  World  spins,  grey  and  old, 

And  in  the  West  wait  Life  and  Death;  behold  1 

Bend  down  with  me  ;  behold  1 

This  is  the  World, — 
This  tattered  scroll  unrolled, — 

This  chart  unfurled. 

Here  at  thy  feet, 
The  Seven  Oceans  part  and  meet. 

Trace  with  thy  finger  tips 

The  round  World  round, 

Free  as  a  shadow  slips 
Over  the  ground. 
The  World  sleeps  there 

Steeped  in  the  shadow  of  thy  hair. 


602762 


CONTENTS. 


TAGE 

The  God  of  Battles i 

Pickets 19 

An  International  Affair 33 

Smith's  Battery 51 

Ambassador  Extraordinary 83 

Yo  Espero 117 

Collector  of  the  Port 155 

The  Whisper 179 

The  Little  Misery 195 

Enter  the  Queen —  221 

Another  Good  Man 261 

Envoi - 301 


THE  GOD  OF  BATTLES 


Ah,  who  could  couple  thoughts  of  war  and  crime 
With  such  a  blessed  time  f 
Who  in  the  West  wind's  aromatic  breath, 
Could  hear  the  call  of  Death  f 


Timrod. 


THE  HAUNTS  OF  MEN. 


THE  GOD  OF  BATTLES. 

Sovereign  of  the  world.  .  .  .  these  sabres  hold  another  lan- 
guage to-day  from  that  they  held  yesterday.   — Vathek. 

It  happened  so  unexpectedly,  so  abruptly,  that 
she  forgot  to  scream.  A  moment  before,  she  had 
glanced  out  of  the  pantry  windows,  dusting  the 
flour  from  her  faded  pink  apron,  and  she  saw  the 
tall  oats  motionless  in  the  field  and  the  sunlight 
sifting  through  the  corn.  In  the  heated  stillness  a 
wasp,  creeping  up  and  down  the  window  pane,  filled 
the  dim  house  with  its  buzzing.  She  remembered 
that, — then  she  remembered  hearing  the  clock  tick- 
ing in  the  darkened  dining-room.  It  was  scarcely  a 
moment ;  she  bent  again  over  her  flour  pan,  wistful, 
saddened  by  the  summer  silence,  thinking  of  her 
brother  ;  then  again  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  win- 
dow. 

It  was  too  sudden  ;  she  did  not  scream.  Had 
they  dropped  from  the  sky,  these  men  in  blue, — 
these  toiling,  tramping,  crowding  creatures  ?  The 
corn  was  full  of  them,  the  pasture,  the  road  ;  they 
were  in  the  garden,  they  crushed  the  cucumbers  and 

3 


4  THE   HAUNTS  OF  MEN. 

the  sweet-peas,  their  muddy  trousers  tore  tender 
tendrils  from  the  melon  vines,  their  great  shoes, 
plodding  across  the  potato  hills,  harrowed  the 
bronzed  earth  and  levelled  it  to  a  waste  of  beaten 
mould  and  green-stuff.  They  passed,  hundreds, 
thousands, — she  could  not  tell, — and  at  first  they 
neither  spoke  nor  turned  aside,  but  she  heard  a  har- 
mony, subtile,  vast  as  winds  at  sea, — a  nameless 
murmur  that  sweeps  through  brains  of  marching 
men, — the  voiceless  prophecy  of  battle. 

Breathless,  spellbound,  she  moved  on  tiptoe  to 
the  porch,  one  hand  pressed  trembling  across  her 
lips.  The  field  of  oats  shimmered  a  moment  before 
her  eyes,  then  a  blue  mass  swung  into  it  and  it 
melted  away,  sheered  to  the  earth  in  glimmering 
swathes  as  gilded  grain  falls  at  the  sickle's  sparkle. 
And  the  men  in  blue  covered  the  earth,  the  world, 
her  world,  which  stretched  from  the  orchard  to 
Benson's  Hill. 

There  was  something  on  Benson's  Hill  that  she 
had  never  before  seen.  It  looked  like  a  brook  in  the 
sunshine ;  it  was  a  column  of  infantry,  rifles  slant- 
ing in  the  sun. 

Somebody  had  been  speaking  to  her  for  a  minute 
or  two,  somebody  below  her  on  the  porch  steps,  and 
now  she  looked  down  and  saw  a  boy,  slim,  sun- 
burnt, wearing  gauntlets  and  spurs.  His  dusty  uni- 
form glittered  with  gilt  and  yellow  braid ;  he 
touched  the  vizor  of  his  cap  and  fingered  his  sword 
hilt.  She  looked  at  him  listlessly,  her  hand  still 
pressed  to  her  lips.  3 


THE   GOD   OF   BATTLES.  5 

"  Is  there  a  well  near  the  house  ? "  he  asked. 
After  a  moment  he  repeated  the  question. 

Men  with  red  crosses  on  their  sleeves  came  across 
the  grass,  trailing  poles  and  rolls  of  dirty  canvas. 
She  saw  horses  too,  dusty  and  patient,  tied  to  the 
front  gate.  A  soldier,  with  a  yellow  ornament  on 
his  sleeve,  stood  at  their  heads,  holding  a  red  flag 
in  one  hand. 

Something  tugged  gently  at  her  apron,  and,  "  show 
me  the  well,  please,"  repeated  the  boy  beside 
her. 

She  turned  mechanically  into  the  house ;  he  fol- 
lowed, caking  the  rag-carpet  with  his  boots'  dry  mud. 
In  the  woodshed  she  started  and  turned  trembling 
to  him  but  he  gravely  motioned  her  on,  and  she 
went,  passing  more  swiftly  under  the  trees  of  the 
orchard  to  the  vine-covered  well-curb. 

He  thanked  her ;  she  pointed  at  the  dipper  and 
rope  ;  but  already  blue-clad,  red-faced  soldiers  were 
lowering  the  bucket  and  the  orchard  hummed  with 
the  buzz  of  the  wheel. 

She  went  back  to  the  porch,  not  through  the 
house  but  around  it.  Across  the  little  lawn  lay 
crushed  stalks  and  dying  flowers  ;  the  potato  patch 
was  a  slough  of  muddy  green. 

Soldiers  passed  in  the  sunshine.  She  began  to 
remember  that  her  brother,  too,  was  a  soldier,  some- 
where out  in  the  world  ;  he  had  been  a  soldier  for 
nearly  a  week,  ever  since  Jim  Bemis  had  taken  him 
to  Willow  Corners  to  enlist.  She  remembered 
she  had  cried  and  gone  into  the  pantry  to  make 


6  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

bread  and  cry  again.  She  remembered  that  first 
night,  how  she  had  been  afraid  to  sleep  in  the  house, 
how  at  dusk  she  had  gone  into  the  parlour  to  be  near 
her  mother.  Her  mother  was  dead,  but  her  picture 
hung  in  the  parlour. 

Soldiers  were  passing,  clutching  their  rifle  butts 
with  dirty  hands,  turning  toward  her  countless  sun- 
dazzled  eyes.  The  shimmer  of  gun-barrels,  the  danc- 
ing light  on  turning  bayonets,  the  flicker  and  sparkle 
on  belt  and  button  dazed  and  wearied  her. 

Somebody  said,  "  We're  the  boys  for  the  purty 
girls  !     Have  ye  no  eyes  for  us,  lass  ?  " 

Another  said,  "  Shut  up,  Mike,  she's  not  from 
the  Bowery ;  "  and,  "  G'wan  ye  dead  rabbit !  "  re- 
torted the  first. 

A  flag  passed,  and  on  it  she  read  "  New  York," 
and  another  flag  passed,  dipped  to  her  in  grim 
salute,  while  the  folds  shook  out  a  faded  "  Maine." 

She  began  to  watch  the  flags ;  she  saw  a  regiment 
plunge  into  the  trampled  corn,  but  she  knew  it  was 
not  her  brother's  because  the  trousers  of  the  men 
were  scarlet  and  the  caps  hung  to  the  shoulders, 
tasselled  and  crimson. 

"  Maryland,  Maryland,  Maryland,  6oth  Maryland," 
she  repeated,  but  she  did  not  know  she  spoke  aloud 
until  somebody  said :  "  It's  yonder,"  and  a  blue 
sleeve  swept  towards  the  west. 

"Yonder,"  she  repeated,  looking  at  the  ridge,  cool 
in  the  beechwoods'  shadow. 

"  Is  it  the  6oth  Maryland  you  want,  Miss?  "  asked 
another. 


THE   GOD   OF   BATTLES.  7 

"  Silence,"  said  an  officer,  wheeling  a  sweating 
horse  past  the  porch. 

She  shrank  back,  but  turned  her  head  toward  the 
beechwoods.  As  she  looked  a  belt  of  flame  encircled 
the  forest,  once,  twice,  again  and  yet  again,  and 
through  the  outrushing  smoke,  the  crash !  crash  ! 
crash !  of  rifles  echoed  and  re-echoed  across  the 
valley. 

All  around  her  thousands  of  men  burst  into  cheers ; 
a  deeper  harmony  grew  on  the  idle  breeze — the  sol- 
emn tolling  of  cannon.  The  flags,  the  bright  flags 
spread  rainbow  wings  to  the  rising  breeze  ;  they  were 
breasting  the  hills  everywhere.  The  din  of  the  rifles, 
the  shouting,  the  sudden  swift  human  wave,  sweep- 
ing by  on  every  side,  thrilled  her  little  heart  until  it 
beat  out  the  long  roll  with  the  rolling  drums. 

In  the  orchard  the  rattle  of  the  bucket,  the  creak 
and  whirr  of  the  well-wheel,  never  ceased.  A  very 
young  officer  sat  on  his  horse,  eating  an  unripe  apple 
and  watching  the  men  around  the  well.  The  horse 
stretched  a  glossy  neck  toward  the  currant  bushes, 
mumbling  twigs  and  sun-curled  leaves.  A  hen  wan- 
dered near,  peering  fearlessly  at  the  soldiers. 

The  girl  went  into  the  kitchen,  reached  up  for  her 
sun-bonnet,  dangling  on  a  peg,  tied  it  under  her  chin, 
and  walked  gravely  into  the  orchard.  The  men 
about  the  well  looked  up  as  she  passed.  They  ad- 
mired respectfully.  So  did  the  very  young  officer, 
pausing,  apple  half-eaten  ;  so  perhaps  did  the  horse, 
turning  his  large,  gentle  eyes  as  she  came  up. 

The  officer  wheeled  in  his  saddle  and  leaned  toward 


8  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

her  deferentially,  anticipating  perhaps  complaint  or 
insult. 

In  Maryland  "  Dixie  "  was  sung  as  often  as  "  The 
Red,  White,  and  Blue." 

Before  she  spoke  she  saw  that  it  was  the  same 
officer  who  had  asked  her  about  the  well ;  she  had 
not  noticed  he  was  so  young. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said, — and,  as  he  spoke,  he  re- 
moved his  cap — "  I  am  very  sorry  that  we  have 
trampled  your  garden.  If  you  are  loyal,  the  Gov. 
ernment  will  indemnify  you — " 

The  sudden  crash  of  a  cannon  somewhere  among 
the  trees  drowned  his  voice.  Stunned,  she  saw  him, 
undisturbed,  gather  his  bridle  with  a  deprecatory 
gesture.  His  voice  came  back  to  her  through  the 
ringing  in  her  ears  :  "  We  do  not  mean  to  be  care- 
less, but  we  could  not  turn  aside,  and  your  farm  is 
in  the  line  of  advance." 

Her  ears  still  rang,  and  she  spoke,  scarcely  hear- 
ing her  own  voice  :  "  It  is  not  that — I  am  loyal — it 
is  only  I  wish  to  ask  you  where  my  brother's  regi- 
ment— where  the  6oth  Maryland  is." 

"  The  6oth  Maryland — oh — why  it's  in  King's 
Brigade,  Wolcott's  Division  ;  I  think  it's  yonder." 
He  pointed  toward  the  beechwoods. 

"  Yonder  ?     Where  they  are  firing  ?  " 

Again  the  cannon  thundered  and  the  ground  shook 
under  her.  She  saw  him  nod,  smiling  faintly.  Other 
mounted  officers  rode  up  ;  some  looked  at  her  curious- 
ly, others  glanced  carelessly  ;  the  attitudes  of  all  were 
respectful.     She  heard  them  arguing  about  the  water 


THE   GOD   OF  BATTLES.  9 

in  the  well  and  the  length  of  the  road  to  Willow  Cor- 
ners. They  spoke  of  a  turning  movement,  of  driving 
somebody  to  Whitehall  Station.  The  musketry  on  the 
hill  had  ceased  ;  the  cannon,  too,  were  silent.  Across 
the  trampled  corn  a  regiment  moved  listlessly  to  the 
tap,  tap  of  a  drum.  On  the  road  that  circled  Ben- 
son's Hill,  mounted  soldiers  were  riding  fast  in  the 
dust ;  several  little  flags  bobbed  among  them  ;  metal 
on  shoulder  and  stirrup  flashed  through  the  dust, 
burnished  by  the  mid-day  sun. 

She  heard  an  officer  say  that  there  would  be  no 
fighting,  and  she  wondered,  because  the  musketry 
began  again,  little  spattering  shots  among  the 
beeches  on  the  ridge,  and  behind  the  house  drums 
rolled  and  a  sudden  flurry  of  bugle  music  filled  the 
air.  Other  officers  rode  up,  some  escorted  by  troop- 
ers who  bounced  in  their  saddles  and  grasped  long- 
staffed  flags,  the  butts  resting  in  their  stirrups. 

She  reached  up  and  bent  down  an  apple  bough, 
studded  with  clustered  green  fruit.  Through  the 
leaves  she  looked  at  the  officers. 

The  sunshine  fell  in  brilliant  spots,  dappling  flag 
and  cap  and  the  broad  backs  of  horses ;  there  was  a 
jingle  of  spurs  everywhere.  The  hum  of  voices  and 
the  movement  were  grateful  to  her,  for  her  loneliness 
was  not  of  her  own  seeking.  In  the  pleasant  sum- 
mer air  the  distant  gunshots  grew  softer  and  softer  ; 
the  twitter  of  a  robin  came  from  the  ash-tree  by  the 
gate. 

Out  on  the  road  by  Benson's  Hill,  the  cavalry 
were  still  passing,  the  little  flags  sped  along,  rising 


IO  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

and  falling  with  the  column,  and  the  short  clear  note 
of  a  trumpet  echoed  the  robin's  call. 

But  around  the  house  the  last  of  the  troops  had 
passed  ;  she  could  see  them,  not  yet  far  away,  mov- 
ing up  among  the  fields  toward  the  ridges  where 
the  sun  burned  on  the  bronzing  scrub-oak  thickets. 
The  officers,  too,  were  leaving  the  orchard,  spurring 
on,  singly  or  in  groups,  after  the  disappearing  col- 
umns. From  the  main  road  came  a  loud  thudding 
and  pounding  and  clanking  ;  a  battery  of  artillery, 
the  long  guns  slanted,  the  drivers  swinging  their 
thongs — passed  at  a  trot.  After  it  rode  soldiers  in 
blue  and  yellow,  then  waggons  passed,  ponderous 
grey  wains  covered  with  canvas,  and  on  either  side 
clattered  more  mounted  troopers,  their  drawn  sabres 
glittering  through  the  heated  haze. 

She  stood  a  moment,  holding  the  apple  bough, 
watching  the  yellow  dust  hanging  motionless  in  the 
rear  of  the  disappearing  column.  When  the  last 
wain  had  creaked  out  of  sight  and  the  last  trooper 
had  loped  after  it,  she  turned  and  looked  at  the 
silent  garden,  trodden,  withered,  desolate.  She 
drew  a  long  breath,  the  apple  bough  flew  back,  the 
little  green  apples  dancing.  A  bee  buzzed  over  a 
trampled  geranium,  a  robin  ran  through  the  longer 
grass  and  stopped  short,  head  raised.  Beyond  Ben- 
son's Hill  a  bugle  blew  faintly ;  distant  rifle  shots 
sounded  along  the  ridge  ;  then  silence  crept  through 
the  sunlit  meadows,  across  the  levelled  corn,  across 
dead  stalks  and  stems,  a  silence  that  spread  like  a 
shadow,  nearer,  nearer,  over  the  lawn,  through  the 


THE   GOD    O'F   BATTLES.1  II 

orchard  to  the  house,  and  then  from  corner  to 
corner,  dulling  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  stifling  the 
wasp  on  the  window,  driving  her  before  it  from  room 
to  room. 

On  the  musty  hair-cloth  sofa  in  the  parlour  she 
lay,  flung  face  down,  hands  pressed  to  her  ears.  But 
silence  entered  with  her,  stifling  the  sob  in  her 
throat. 

When  she  raised  her  head  it  was  dusk.  She  heard 
the  murmur  of  wind  in  the  trees  and  the  chirr  of 
crickets  from  the  fields.  She  sat  up,  peering  fear- 
fully into  the  darkness,  and  she  heard  the  clock  tick- 
ing in  the  kitchen  and  rustle  of  vines  on  the  porch. 
After  a  moment  she  rose,  treading  softly,  and  felt 
along  the  wall  until  her  hands  rested  on  her  mother's 
picture.  Then,  no  longer  afraid,  she  slipped  silently 
across  the  room,  and  through  the  hallway  to  the 
pantry. 

It  was  nearly  moonrise  before  she  had  cooked 
supper  ;  when  she  sat  down  alone  at  the  long  table, 
the  moon,  yellow,  enormous,  stared  at  her  through 
the  window. 

She  sipped  her  tea,  turned  the  lamp-wick  a  trifle 
lower,  and  ate  slowly.  The  little  grey  dusk  moths 
came  humming  in  the  open  window  and  circled 
around  her.  The  porch  dripped  with  dew ;  there 
was  a  scent  of  night  in  the  air. 

When  she  had  sat  silent  a  little  while  dreaming 
over  the  sins  of  a  blameless  life,  there  came  to  her, 
peace,  so  sudden  so  perfect,  that  she  could  not  un- 
derstand.    How  should  she   know   peace?     What 


12  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

thought  of  the  past  might  bring  comfort  ?  She 
could  just  remember  her  mother, — that  was  all. 
She  loved  her  picture  in  the  parlour.  As  for  her 
father,  he  had  died  as  he  had  lived,  a  snarling 
drunkard.  And  her  brother?  A  lank,  blue-eyed 
boy,  dissipated,  unwholesome,  already  cursed  with 
his  father's  sin — what  comfort  could  he  be  to  her  ? 
He  had  gone  away  to  enlist ;  he  was  drunk  when  he 
did  it. 

She  thought  of  all  these  things,  her  finger  tips 
resting  on  the  edge  of  the  table.  She  thought  too 
— of  the  soldiers  passing,  of  the  rippling  crash  of 
rifles,  the  drums,  the  cheering,  the  sunlight  flecking 
the  backs  of  the  horses  in  the  orchard. 

There  was  a  creak  at  the  gate,  a  click  of  a  latch, 
and  the  fall  of  a  foot  on  the  moonlit  porch.  She 
half  rose ;  she  was  not  frightened.  How  she  knew 
who  it  was,  God  alone  knows,  but  she  looked  up, 
timidly,  understanding  who  was  coming,  knowing 
who  would  knock,  who  would  enter,  who  would 
speak.  And  yet  she  had  never  seen  him  but  once 
in  her  life. 

All  this  she  knew, — this  child  made  wise  in  the 
space  of  time  marked  by  the  tick  of  the  kitchen 
clock ;  but  she  did  not  know  that  the  memory  of 
his  smile  had  given  her  the  peace  she  could  not 
understand,  she  did  not  know  this  until  he  entered, 
dusty,  slim,  sunburnt,  his  yellow  gauntlets  folded 
in  his  belt,  his  cap  and  sabre  in  his  hand.  Then 
she  knew  it.  When  she  understood  this  she  stood 
up,  pale,  uncertain.     He  bowed  silently  and  stepped 


THE   GOD   OF   BATTLES.  1 3 

forward,  fumbling  with  his  sabre  hilt.  She  motioned 
toward  a  chair. 

He  said  he  had  a  message  for  the  master  of  the 
house,  and  glanced  about  vaguely,  noting  the  single 
place  at  table  and  the  single  plate.  She  said  he 
might  give  the  message  to  her. 

"  It  is  only  that — if  I  do  not  inconvenience  you 
too  much — "  he  smiled  faintly, — "  if  you  would 
allow  me, — well,  the  truth  is  I  am  billeted  here  for 
the  night." 

She  did  not  know  what  that  meant  and  he  ex- 
plained. 

"  The  master  of  the  house  is  absent,"  she  said, 
thinking  of  her  brother. 

"  Will  he  return  to-night  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head  ;  she  was  thinking  that  she 
did  not  want  him  to  go  away.  Suddenly  the  thought 
of  being  alone  laid  hold  of  her  with  fresh  horror. 

"  You  may  stay,"  she  said  faintly.  He  bowed 
again.  She  asked  him  if  he  cared  for  supper,  with 
a  gesture  toward  the  table,  and  when  he  thanked 
her  she  took  courage  and  told  him  where  to  hang 
his  cap  and  sabre. 

There  was  a  small  room  between  the  parlour  and 
the  dining-room.  She  offered  it  to  him,  and  he  ac- 
cepted gratefully.  While  she  was  in  the  kitchen, 
toasting  more  bread,  she  heard  him  go  to  the  front 
door  and  call.  There  came  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  a 
quick  word  or  two,  and,  as  she  re-entered  the  din- 
ing-room, he  met  her.  "  My  orderly,"  he  explained, 
— "  he  may  sleep  in  the  stable,  may  he  not  ?  " 


14  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  My  own  bed-room  is  all  I  have  here,"  she  said. 

"  Not — not  the  one  you  gave  me !  "  he  asked. 

She  nodded.  "  You  may  have  it, — I  often  sleep 
in  the  parlour, — I  did  when  my  brother  was  home." 

"  If  I  had  had  any  idea — "  he  burst  out.  She 
stopped  him  with  a  gesture ;  but  he  insisted  and  at 
last  he  had  his  own  way.  "  If  I  may  sleep  in  the 
parlour,  I  will  stay,"  he  said,  and  she  nodded  and 
seated  herself  at  the  table. 

He  ate  a  great  deal ;  she  wondered  a  little,  but 
nodded  again  at  his  excuses,  and  insisted  that  he 
must  have  more  tea.  She  watched  him  ;  the  lamp- 
light fell  softly  on  his  boyish  head,  on  his  faint 
moustache,  and  bronzed  hands.  He  ate  much  bread 
and  butter  and  many  eggs  ;  he  spoke  about  his 
orderly  and  the  horses,  and  presently  asked  for  a 
lantern.     She  brought  him  one  ;  he  lighted  it. 

When  he  had  gone  away  with  his  lantern,  she 
rested  her  white  face  in  her  hands  and  looked  at  his 
empty  chair.  She  thought  of  her  brother,  she 
thought  of  the  village  people  who  leered  askance 
when  she  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  store  at  Willow 
Corners.  The  mention  of  her  father's  name,  of  her 
brother's  name  in  the  village  aroused  sneers  or 
laughter.  As  long  as  she  could  remember  the  one 
great  longing  of  her  life  had  been  to  be  respected. 
She  had  seen  her  father  fall  at  night  in  the  village 
street,  drunk  as  a  hog;  she  had  seen  her  brother 
reel  across  the  fields  at  noonday.  She  knew  that 
all  the  world  knew — her  world — that  she  was  merely 
one  of  a  drunkard's  family.     She  never  spoke  to  a 


THE   GOD   OF   BATTLES.  1 5 

neighbour,  nor  did  she  answer  when  spoken  to.  She 
carried  her  curse, — and  her  longing, — supposing 
that  she  was  a  thing  apart.  In  the  orchard  at  mid- 
day a  man,  a  young  boy,  a  soldier,  had  spoken  to 
her  and  looked  at  her  in  a  way  she  had  never  known. 
All  at  once  she  realised,  dreaming  there  in  the  lamp- 
light, that  she  was  a  woman  to  him,  like  other 
women  ;  a  woman  to  be  spoken  to  with  deference, 
a  woman  to  be  approached  with  courtesy.  She  had 
read  it  in  his  eyes,  she  had  heard  it  in  his  voice.  It 
was  this  that  brought  to  her  a  peace  as  gracious, 
as  sweet,  as  the  eyes  that  had  met  her  own  in  the 
orchard. 

He  was  coming  back  from  the  stable  now, — she 
heard  his  spurs  click  across  the  grass  by  the  orchard. 
And  now  he  had  entered,  now  he  was  there,  sitting 
opposite,  smiling  vaguely  across  the  table.  A  rush 
of  tears  blinded  her  and  she  looked  out  into  the 
night  where  the  yellow  moon  stared  and  stared. 

She  found  herself  in  the  parlour  after  a  while, 
silent,  listening  to  his  voice  ;  and  all  about  her  was 
peace,  born  of  the  peace  within  her  breast. 

He  told  her  of  the  war.  She  had  never  before 
cared,  but  now  she  cared.  He  spoke  of  long  marches, 
of  hunger  and  of  thirst,  with  a  boyish  laugh,  and 
she  laughed  too,  not  knowing  how  else  to  show  her 
pity.  He  spoke  of  the  Land,  and  now,  for  the  first 
time,  she  loved  it ;  she  knew  it  was  also  her  Land. 
He  spoke  of  the  flag  and  what  it  meant.  In  her 
home  she  had  no  symbol  of  her  country,  and  she 
told  him  so.     He  drew  a  penknife  from   his  pocket, 


l6  THE  HAUNTS  OF  MEN. 

cut  a  button  from  his  collar,  and  handed  it  to  her. 
On  the  button  was  an  eagle  and  stars,  and  she  pinned 
it  over  her  heart,  looking  at  him  with  innocent  eyes. 

She  told  him  of  her  mother, — she  could  not  tell 
much  but  she  told  him  all  she  remembered.  Then, 
involuntarily,  she  told  him  more, — about  her  life,  her 
hopes  long  dead,  her  brother  bearing  his  father's 
name  and  curse.  She  had  not  meant  to  do  this  at 
first ;  but  as  she  spoke  she  had  a  dim  idea  that  he 
ought  to  know  who  it  was  that  he  treated  with 
gentleness  and  deference.  She  knew  it  would  not 
change  anything  in  him,  that  he  would  be  the  same. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  vague  hope  that  he  might  advise 
her, — perhaps  be  sorry,  she  could  not  analyse  it,  but 
she  felt  the  necessity  of  speaking. 

There  is  a  time  for  all  things  except  confession. 
But,  to  the  lonely  soul,  long  stifled,  time  is  chosen 
for  confession  when  God  sends  the  opportunity. 

She  spoke  of  honour  as  she  understood  it ;  she 
spoke  of  dishonour  as  she  had  known  it. 

When  she  was  silent,  he  began  to  speak,  and 
she  listened  breathlessly.  Ah,  but  she  was  right ! 
The  God  of  Battles  had  sent  to  her  a  messenger  of 
peace.  Out  of  the  smoke  and  flame  he  had  come 
to  find  her  and  pity  her.  Through  him  she  knew 
she  was  worthy  of  respect,  through  him  she  learned 
her  womanhood,  from  his  lips  she  heard  the  truths 
of  youth,  which  are  truer  than  the  truths  of  age. 

He  sat  there  in  the  lamplight,  his  gilt  straps 
gleaming,  his  glittering  spurs  ringing  true  with 
every  movement,  his  bronzed  young  face  bent  to 


THE   GOD   OF  BATTLES.  1 7 

hers.  She  knew  he  knew  everything  that  man  could 
know ;  she  drank  in  what  he  said,  humbly.  When 
he  ceased  speaking,  she  still  looked  into  his  eyes. 
Their  brilliancy  dazzled  her  ;  the  lamp  spun  a  halo 
behind  his  head.  Wondering  at  his  knowledge,  she 
wondered  what  those  things  might  be  that  he  knew 
and  had  not  told.  He  was  smiling  now.  She  felt 
the  power  and  mystery  of  his  eyes. 

It  is  true  that  he  had  not  told  her  all  he  knew, — 
although  what  a  boy  of  eighteen  knows  is  soon  told. 
He  had  not  told  her  that  her  brother  lay  buried  in 
a  trench  in  the  beech-grove  on  the  ridge,  shot  by 
court-martial  for  desertion  in  the  face  of  the  enemy. 
Yet  that  was  the  very  thing  he  had  come  to  tell  her. 

About  midnight,  when  they  had  been  whispering 
long  together,  he  told  her  that  her  brother  was  dead. 
He  told  her  that  death  with  honour  wiped  out  every 
stain,  and  she  cried  a  little  and  blessed  God, — the 
God  of  Battles,  who  had  purified  her  brother  in  the 
flames  of  war. 

And  that  night,  when  he  lay  asleep  on  the  musty 
hair-cloth  sofa,  she  crept  in,  white,  silent,  and  kissed 
his  hair. 

He  never  knew  it.  In  the  morning  he  rode  away. 
2 


PICKETS. 


PICKETS. 

"  Hi,  Yank !  " 

"  Shut  up  !  "  replied  Alden,  wriggling  to  the  edge 
of  the  rifle-pit.  Connor  also  crawled  a  little  higher 
and  squinted  through  the  chinks  of  the  pine 
logs. 

"  Hey,  Johnny !  "  he  called  across  the  river,  "  are 
you  that  clay-eatin'  Cracker  with  green  lamps  on 
your  pilot  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Yank !  Are  yew  the  U.  S.  mewl  with  a 
C.  S.  A.  brand  on  yewr  head-stall?  " 

"  Go  to  hell !  "  replied  Connor  sullenly. 

A  jeering  laugh  answered  him  from  across  the 
river. 

"  He  had  you  there,  Connor,"  observed  Alden 
with  faint  interest. 

Connor  took  off  his  blue  cap  and  examined  the 
bullet  hole  in  the  crown. 

"  C.  S.  A.  brand  on  my  head-stall,  eh !  "  he  re- 
peated savagely,  twirling  the  cap  between  his  dirty 
fingers. 

"  You  called  him  a  clay-eating  Cracker,"  observed 

Alden  ;  "  and  you  referred  to  his  .spectacles  as  green 

lanterns  on  his  pilot." 

"  I  '11  show  him  whose  head-stall  is  branded,"  mut- 
21 


22  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

tered  Connor,  shoving  his  smoky  rifle  through  the 
log  crack. 

Alden  slid  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  shallow  pit 
and  watched  him  apathetically. 

The  silence  was  intense  ;  the  muddy  river,  smooth 
as  oil,  swirled  noiselessly  between  its  fringe  of 
sycamores  ;  not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  the  leaves 
around  them.  From  the  sun-baked  bottom  of  the 
rifle-pit  came  the  stale  smell  of  charred  logs  and 
smoke-soaked  clothing.  There  was  a  stench  of 
sweat  in  the  air  and  the  heavy  odour  of  balsam  and 
pine  seemed  to  intensify  it.  Alden  gasped  once  or 
twice,  threw  open  his  jacket  at  the  throat,  and  stuffed 
a  filthy  handkerchief  into  the  crown  of  his  cap, 
arranging  the  ends  as  a  shelter  for  his  neck. 

Connor  lay  silent,  his  right  eye  fastened  upon  the 
rifle-sight,  his  dusty  army  shoes  crossed  behind 
him.  One  yellow  sock  had  slipped  down  over  the 
worn  shoe  heel  and  laid  bare  a  dust-begrimed  ankle. 

In  the  heated  stillness  Alden  heard  the  boring  of 
weevils  in  the  logs  overhead.  A  tiny  twig  snapped 
somewhere  in  the  forest ;  a  fly  buzzed  about  his 
knees.  Suddenly  Connor's  rifle  cracked  ;  the  echoes 
rattled  and  clattered  away  through  the  woods  ;  a 
thin  cloud  of  pungent  vapour  slowly  drifted  straight 
upward,  shredding  into  filmy  streamers  among  the 
tangled  branches  overhead. 

"  Get  him?"  asked  Alden,  after  a  silence. 

"  Nope,"  replied  Connor.  Then  he  addressed 
himself  to  his  late  target  across  the  river : 

"  Hello,  Johnny  !  " 


PICKETS.  23 

"  Hi,  Yank  !  " 

"  How  close?  " 

"  Hey?" 

"  How  close?  " 

"  What,  sonny?" 

"  My  shot,  you  fool !  " 

"  Why,  sonny!"  called  back  the  Confederate  in 
affected  surprise,  "was  yew  a  shootin'  at  me?" 

Bang  !  went  Connor's  rifle  again.  A  derisive  cat- 
call answered  him,  and  he  turned  furiously  to  Alden. 

"  Oh,  let  up,"  said  the  young  fellow  ;  "it  's  too 
hot  for  that." 

Connor  was  speechless  with  rage,  and  he  hastily 
jammed  another  cartridge  into  his  long,  hot  rifle, 
while  Alden  roused  himself,  brushed  away  a  per- 
sistent fly,  and  crept  up  to  the  edge  of  the  pit 
again. 

"  Hello,  Johnny  !  "  he  shouted. 

"  That  you,  sonny  ?  "  replied  the  Confederate. 

"  Yes.  Say,  Johnny,  shall  we  call  it  square  until 
four  o'clock  ?  " 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  "  replied  the  cautious  Con- 
federate ;  "  all  our  expensive  gold  watches  is  bein' 
repaired  at  Chickamauga." 

At  this  taunt,  Connor  showed  his  teeth,  but 
Alden  laid  one  hand  on  his  arm  and  sang  out  : 
"  It 's  two  o'clock,  Richmond  time ;  Sherman  has 
just  telegraphed  us  from  your  State-house." 

"  Wa-al,  in  that  case  this  crool  war  is  over,"  re- 
plied the  Confederate  sharpshooter ;  "  we  '11  be 
easy  on  old  Sherman." 


24  THE  HAUNTS  OF   MEN. 

"  See  here ! "  cried  Alden  ;  "  is  it  a  truce  until 
four  o'clock?" 

"  All  right !     Your  word,  Yank  !  " 

"  You  have  it ! " 

"  Done  !  "  said  the  Confederate,  coolly  rising  to 
his  feet  and  strolling  down  to  the  river  bank,  both 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

Alden  and  Connor  crawled  out  of  their  ill-smelling 
dust  wallow,  leaving  their  rifles  behind  them. 

"  Whew  !  It 's  hot,  Johnny,"  said  Alden  pleas- 
antly. He  pulled  out  a  stained  pipe,  blew  into  the 
stem,  polished  the  bowl  with  his  sleeve,  and  sucked 
wistfully  at  the  end.  Then  he  went  and  sat  down 
beside  Connor  who  had  improvised  a  fishing  pole 
from  his  ramrod,  a  bit  of  string,  and  a  rusty 
hook. 

The  Confederate  rifleman  also  sat  down  on  his 
side  of  the  stream,  puffing  luxuriously  on  a  fragrant 
corn-cob  pipe. 

Presently  the  Confederate  soldier  raised  his  head 
and  looked  across  at  Alden. 

"  What's  yewr  name,  sonny?"  he  asked. 

"  Alden,"  replied  the  young  fellow  briefly. 

"  Mine's  Craig,"  observed  the  Confederate ; 
"  what's  yewr  regiment  ?  " 

"  Two  hundred  sixtieth  New  York  ;  what's  yours, 
Mr.  Craig  ?  " 

"  Ninety-third  Maryland,  Mister  Alden." 

"  Quit  that  throwin'  sticks  in  the  water  !  "  growled 
Connor  ;  "  how  do  you  s'pose  I'm  goin'  to  catch 
anythin'  ?" 


PICKETS.  25 

Alden  tossed  his  stick  back  into  the  brush-heap 
and  laughed. 

"  How's  your  tobacco,  Craig  ?  "  he  called  out. 

"  Bully  !     How's  yewr  coffee  'n  'tack,  Alden  ?  " 

"  First-rate  !  "  replied  the  youth. 

After  a  silence  he  said:  "  Is  it  a  go  ?  " 

"  You  bet,"  said  Craig,  fumbling  in  his  pockets. 
He  produced  a  heavy  twist  of  Virginia  tobacco,  laid 
it  on  a  log,  hacked  off  about  three  inches  with  his 
sheath  knife,  and  folded  it  up  in  a  big  green  syca- 
more leaf.  This  again  he  rolled  into  a  corn-husk, 
weighted  with  a  pebble,  then  stepping  back,  he  hurled 
it  into  the  air,  saying:  "Deal  squar,  Yank!  " 

The  tobacco  fell  at  Alden's  feet.  He  picked  it 
up,  measured  it  carefully  with  his  clasp-knife,  and 
called  out :  "  Three  and  three-quarters,  Craig.  What 
do  you  want,  hard-tack  or  coffee  ?  " 

"  'Tack,"  replied  Craig :  "  don't  stint !  " 

Alden  laid  out  two  biscuits.  As  he  was  about  to 
hack  a  quarter  from  the  third  he  happened  to  glance 
over  the  creek  at  his  enemy.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking the  expression  in  his  face.  Starvation  was 
stamped  on  every  feature. 

When  Craig  caught  Alden's  eye,  he  spat  with 
elaborate  care,  whistled  a  bar  of  the  "  Bonny  Blue 
Flag,"  and  pretended  to  yawn. 

Alden  hesitated,  glanced  at  Connor,  then  placed 
three  whole  biscuits  in  the  corn  husk,  added  a  pinch 
of  coffee,  and  tossed  the  parcel  over  to  Craig. 

That  Craig  longed  to  fling  himself  upon  the  food 
and  devour  it  was  plain  to  Alden,  who  was  watch- 


26  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

ing  his  face.  But  he  didn't ;  he  strolled  leisurely- 
down  the  bank,  picked  up  the  parcel,  weighed  it 
critically  before  opening  it,  and  finally  sat  down  to 
examine  the  contents.  When  he  saw  that  the  third 
cracker  was  whole,  and  that  a  pinch  of  coffee  had 
been  added,  he  paused  in  his  examination  and  re- 
mained motionless  on  the  bank,  head  bent.  Pres- 
ently he  looked  up  and  asked  Alden  if  he  had  made 
a  mistake.  The  young  fellow  shook  his  head  and 
drew  a  long  puff  of  smoke  from  his  pipe,  watching 
it  curl  out  of  his  nose  with  interest. 

"Then  I'm  obliged  to  yew,  Alden,"  said  Craig; 
"  'low,  I'll  eat  a  snack  to  see  it  ain't  pizened." 

He  filled  his  lean  jaws  with  the  dry  biscuit,  then 
scooped  up  a  tin-cup  full  of  water  from  the  muddy 
river  and  set  the  rest  of  the  cracker  to  soak. 

"Good?"  queried  Alden. 

"  Fair,"  drawled  Craig,  bolting  an  unchewed  seg- 
ment and  choking  a  little.     "  How's  the  twist  ?  " 

"  Fine,"  said  Alden  ;  "  tastes  like  stable-sweep- 
ings." 

They  smiled  at  each  other  across  the  stream. 

"  Sa-a-y,"  drawled  Craig  with  his  mouth  full, 
"  when  yew're  out  of  twist,  jest  yew  sing  out, 
sonny." 

"  All  right,"  replied  Alden.  He  stretched  back 
in  the  shadow  of  a  sycamore  and  watched  Craig  with 
pleasant  eyes. 

Presently  Connor  had  a  bite  and  jerked  his  line 
into  the  air. 

"  Look  yere,"  said  Craig,  '  that  ain't  no  way  foh 


PICKETS.  27 

to  ketch  '  red-horse.'  Yew  want  a  ca'tridge  on  foh 
a  sinker,  sonny." 

"  What's  that?  "  inquired  Connor  suspiciously. 

"  Put  on  a  sinker." 

"  Go  on,  Connor,"  said  Alden. 

Connor  saw  him  smoking  and  sniffed  anxiously. 
Alden  tossed  him  the  twist,  telling  him  to  fill  his  pipe. 

Presently  Connor  found  a  small  pebble  and  im- 
provised a  sinker.  He  swung  his  line  again  into  the 
muddy  current  with  a  mechanical  sidelong  glance 
to  see  what  Craig  was  doing,  and  settled  down  again 
on  his  haunches,  smoking  and  grunting. 

"  Enny  news,  Alden  ? "  queried  Craig  after  a 
silence. 

"  Nothing  much — except  that  Richmond  has 
fallen,"  grinned  Alden. 

"Quit  foolin',"  urged  the  Southerner;  "  ain't  thar 
no  news  ?  " 

"  No.  Some  of  our  men  down  at  Long  Pond  got 
sick  eating  catfish.  They  caught  them  in  the  pond. 
It  appears  you  Johnnys  used  the  pond  as  a  cem- 
etery, and  our  men  got  sick  eating  the  fish." 

"That  so?"  grinned  Craig;  "too  bad.  Lots  of 
yewr  men  was  in  Long  Pond,  too,  I  reckon." 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  two  rifle-shots  sounded 
faint  and  dull  from  the  distant  forest. 

"  'Nother  great  Union  victory,"  drawled  Craig. 
"  Extry  !  extry  !     Richmond  is  took  !  " 

Alden  laughed  and  puffed  at  his  pipe. 

"  We  licked  the  boots  off  of  the  30th  Texas  last 
Monday,"  he  said. 


28  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Sho  ! "  exclaimed  Craig.  "  What  did  you  go  a 
lickin'  their  boots  for? — blackin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  shut  up  !  "  said  Connor  from  the  bank,  "  I 
can't  ketch  no  fish  if  you  two  fools  don't  quit 
jawin'." 

The  sun  was  dipping  below  the  pine-clad  ridge, 
flooding  river  and  wood  with  a  fierce  radiance.  The 
spruce  needles  glittered,  edged  with  gold  ;  every 
broad  green  leaf  wore  a  heart  of  gilded  splendour, 
and  the  muddy  waters  of  the  river  rolled  onward 
like  a  flood  of  precious  metal,  heavy,  burnished, 
noiseless. 

From  a  balsam  bough  a  thrush  uttered  three  timid 
notes ;  a  great  gauzy-winged  grasshopper  drifted 
blindly  into  a  clump  of  sun-scorched  weeds,  click ! 
click !  cr-r-r-r ! 

"  Purty,  ain't  it,"  said  Craig,  looking  at  the 
thrush.  Then  he  swallowed  the  last  morsel  of  muddy 
hard-tack,  wiped  his  beard  on  his  cuff,  hitched  up 
his  trousers,  took  off  his  green  glasses,  and  rubbed 
his  eyes. 

"A  he-cat-bird  sings  purtier  though,"  he  said  with 
a  yawn. 

Alden  drew  out  his  watch,  puffed  once  or  twice, 
and  stood  up,  stretching  his  arms  in  the  air. 

"  It's  four  o'clock,"  he  began,  but  was  cut  short 
by  a  shout  from  Connor. 

"  Gee-whiz  !  "  he  yelled,  "  what  have  I  got  on 
this  here  pole  !  " 

The  ramrod  was  bending,  the  line  swaying 
heavily  in  the  current. 


PICKETS.  29 

"  It's  four  o'clock,  Connor,"  said  Alden,  keeping 
a  wary  eye  on   Craig. 

"That's  all  right!"  called  Craig;  "the  time's 
extended  till  yewr  friend  lands  that  there  fish  !  " 

"  Pulls  like  a  porpoise,"  grunted  Connor,  "  damn 
it !     I  bet  it  busts  my  ramrod  !  " 

"Does  it  pull?"  grinned  Craig. 

"  Yes, — a  dead  weight !  " 

"  Don't  it  jerk  kinder  this  way  an'  that,"  asked 
Craig,  much  interested. 

"  Naw,"  said  Connor,  "  the  bloody  thing  jest  pulls 
steady." 

"  Then  it  ain't  no  '  red-horse, '  it's  a  catfish  !  " 

"  Huh  !  "  sneered  Connor, — "  don't  I  know  a  cat- 
fish?    This  ain't  no  catfish,  lemme  tell  yer !  " 

"  Then  it's  a  log,"  laughed  Alden. 

"  By  gum  !  here  it  comes,"  panted  Connor  ;  "  here, 
Alden,  jest  you  ketch  it  with  my  knife, — hook  the 
blade,  blame  ye  !  " 

Alden  cautiously  descended  the  red  bank  of 
mud,  holding  on  to  roots  and  branches,  and  bent 
over  the  water.  He  hooked  the  big-bladed  clasp 
knife  like  a  scythe,  set  the  spring,  and  leaned  out 
over  the  water. 

"  Now  !  "  muttered  Connor. 

An  oily  circle  appeared  upon  the  surface  of  the 
turbid  water, — another  and  another.  A  few  bubbles 
rose  and  floated  upon  the  tide. 

Then  something  black  appeared  just  beneath  the 
bubbles  and  Alden  hooked  it  with  his  knife  and 
dragged  it  shoreward. 


30  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

It  was  the  sleeve  of  a  man's  coat. 

Connor  dropped  his  ramrod  and  gaped  at  the 
thing:  Alden  would  have  loosed  it,  but  the  knife- 
blade  was  tangled  in  the  sleeve. 

He  turned  a  sick  face  up  to  Connor. 

"Pull  it  in,"  said  the  older  man, — "here,  give  it 
to  me,  lad — " 

When  at  last  the  silent  visitor  lay  upon  the  bank, 
they  saw  it  was  the  body  of  a  Union  cavalryman. 
Alden  stared  at  the  dead  face,  fascinated  ;  Connor 
mechanically  counted  the  yellow  chevrons  upon  the 
blue  sleeve,  now  soaked  black.  The  muddy  water 
ran  over  the  baked  soil,  spreading  out  in  dust-cov- 
ered pools  ;  the  spurred  boots  trickled  slime.  After 
a  while  both  men  turned  their  heads  and  looked  at 
Craig.  The  Southerner  stood  silent  and  grave,  his 
battered  cap  in  his  hand.  They  eyed  each  other 
quietly  for  a  moment,  then,  with  a  vague  gesture, 
the  Southerner  walked  back  into  his  pit  and  pres- 
ently reappeared,  trailing  his  rifle. 

Connor  had  already  begun  to  dig  with  his  bayonet, 
but  he  glanced  up  at  the  rifle  in  Craig's  hands. 
Then  he  looked  suspiciously  into  the  eyes  of  the 
Southerner.  Presently  he  bent  his  head  again  and 
continued  digging. 

It  was  sunset  before  he  and  Alden  finished  the 
shallow  grave,  Craig  watching  them  in  silence,  his 
rifle  between  his  knees.  When  they  were  ready  they 
rolled  the  body  into  the  hole  and  stood  up. 

Craig  also  rose,  raising  his  rifle  to  a  "  present." 
He    held   it   there   while    the   two    Union   soldiers 


PICKETS.  31 

shovelled  the  earth  into  the  grave.  Alden  went 
back  and  lifted  the  two  rifles  from  the  pit,  handed 
Connor  his,  and  waited. 

"  Ready  !  "  growled  Connor,  "  aim  !  " 

Alden's  rifle  came  to  his  shoulder.  Craig  also 
raised  his  rifle. 

"  Fire  !  " 

Three  times  the  three  shots  rang  out  in  the  wilder- 
ness, over  the  unknown  grave.  After  a  moment  or 
two  Alden  nodded  good  night  to  Craig  across  the 
river  and  walked  slowly  toward  his  rifle-pit.  Con- 
nor shambled  after  him.  As  he  turned  to  lower 
himself  into  the  pit  he  called  across  the  river; 
"  Good  night,  Craig  !  " 

"  Good  night,  Connor,"  said  Craig. 


AN  INTERNATIONAL  AFFAIR 


AN   INTERNATIONAL  AFFAIR. 

"...  Brown-bear  clam'  de  ole  fence  rail, 
Rabbit  holler;  "  Whar  yoh  tail  ? . . .  " 

Banjo  Song. 
I. 

WHEN  the  gunboats  entered  Sandy  River,  Cle- 
land's  regiment  was  ordered  to  garrison  and  recon- 
struct the  forts  at  the  Landing,  evacuated  by  the 
Confederate  troops  as  soon  as  the  gunboats  crossed 
the  bar. 

The  gunboats  tossed  a  few  shells  after  the  lei- 
surely retreating  Confederates,  then  dropped  anchor 
below  the  Landing,  and  waited  for  something  to 
turn  up.  A  week  later  they  steamed  out  of  the 
river,  promptly  stuck  on  the  bar,  churned  and 
thrashed  and  whistled  and  signalled,  and  finally  slid 
out  into  blue  water  where  a  blockade  runner  tempted 
them  into  a  chase  that  contributed  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  Southern  Confederacy. 

By  Thanksgiving  time,  Cleland's  regiment  had 
finished  the  forts  at  Sandy  Landing.  Cleland  did 
it  because  he  was  told  to,  not  because  either  forts 
or  town  were  of  the  slightest  military  value  to  any- 
body. The  Landing  itself  was  a  skunk-haunted 
village,  utterly  unimportant  as  supply  depot,  strat- 
egical pivot,  or  a  menace  to  navigation.     It  was  a 

35 


$6  THE   HAUNTS  OF  MEN. 

key  to  nothing ;  its  single  railway  led  nowhere,  its 
whisky  was  illegal,  illimitable,  and  atrocious. 

Cleland's  report  embodied  all  of  this.  He  was 
ordered  to  hold  his  ground,  establish  semaphores, 
and  plant  torpedoes.  So  he  built  his  semaphores  as 
directed,  planted  torpedoes,  and  reported.  Twenty- 
four  hours  later  orders  came  to  go  into  winter- 
quarters.  Then  he  was  notified  that  he  was  to  be 
reinforced,  so  he  built  barracks  for  two  more  regi- 
ments, as  directed,  and  wondered  what  on  earth  was 
coming.  Nothing  came  except  the  two  regiments ; 
one  arrived  on  the  first  of  December,  by  rail, — an 
Irish  regiment ; — the  other  turned  up  a  week  later 
in  two  cattle  trains,  band  playing  madly  from  the 
caboose.  It  was  a  German  regiment  full  of  strange 
oaths — and  aromas. 

Now  Cleland  was  enlightened  ;  he  understood 
that  the  Landing  was  to  be  used  as  a  species  of 
cage  for  these  two  foreign  regiments,  raised,  Heaven 
knows  where,  and  destined  to  prove  a  nuisance  to 
any  army  that  harboured  them.  The  Irish  possessed 
an  appalling  record  of  pillage,  bravery,  and  insubor- 
dination. The  German  regiment,  raised  "  to  march 
mit  Siegel,"  had  an  unbroken  record  of  flight  to  its 
discredit.  It  had  run  at  Grey's  Ford,  at  Crystal 
Hill,  at  Yellow  Bank,  and  at  Cypress-Court-House. 
It  fled  cheerfully,  morning,  noon  and  night  ;  its  band 
stampeded  naively  and  naturally  ;  it  always  followed 
its  band,  adored  by  all ;  and  the  regiment  bore  no 
rancour  when  scourged  in  general  orders.  Fallbach 
was  its  colonel, — known  to  the  sarcastic  and  unin- 


AN  INTERNATIONAL  AFFAIR.  37 

structed  as  Fallback, — a  rosy,  short-winded,  peaceful 
Teuton,  who  ran  with  his  regiment  every  time,  and 
always  accepted  censure  with  jocular  resignation. 

"  Poys  will  pe  poys,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  would  say  with 
a  shrug;  "  Der  band  iss  a  fine  band  alretty.  Dot 
trombone  iss  timid,  und  der  poys  dey  follow  der 
trombone." 

When  Cleland  understood  that  the  authorities  had 
rid  themselves  of  the  two  regiments  by  interring 
them  at  Sandy  Landing,  he  wrote  a  respectful  pro- 
test, was  snubbed  and  ordered  to  begin  housekeep- 
ing for  the  winter,  which  meant  that  his  regiment 
was  now  on  police  duty,  stationed  at  the  Landing 
to  keep  the  peace  between  the  Germans  and  their 
Irish  neighbours. 

Trouble  began  promptly  ;  Bannon,  colonel  of  the 
1st  Irish,  met  Fallbach  of  the  1st  Jagers,  and  mispro- 
nounced his  name  with  an  emphasis  unmistakable. 
An  hour  later  the  two  regiments  knew  the  war  was 
on  and  made  preparations  accordingly.  Hogan  of 
the  10th  company,  crossing  the  street,  hustled  Franz 
Bummel  of  the  Jagers  and  called  him  a  "  dootch 
puddy-fud  !  " 

Quinn,  listening  to  the  Jagers'  band  concert  that 
afternoon,  whistled  "  Doolan's  Wake,"  and  imitated 
Fritz  Klein's  piccolo,  aided  and  abetted  by  Phelan 
and  McCue.  That  night  there  were  three  scuffles 
and  a  fight,  and  the  provost-marshal  had  his  work 
cut  out  for  him. 

Little  by  little  the  two  regiments  were  installed 
in  distant  sections  of  the  town.     Cleland  dealt  jus- 


38  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

tice  untempered  with  mercy,  and  the  rival  regi- 
ments understood  that  their  warfare  would  have  to 
be  carried  on  by  stealth. 

When  Phelan,  Quinn,  Hogan,  and  McCue  were 
released  from  the  guard-house,  they  rejoiced  with 
their  comrades  of  the  ioth  company,  and  prepared 
future  calamity  for  the  Jagers.  But  Fate  was 
against  them.  Their  regimental  fetish,  a  strong 
young  goat,  disappeared,  and  that  night  the  Jagers 
were  reported  to  have  revelled  in  a  strangely  sug- 
gestive stew. 

A  day  or  two  later,  Quinn,  fishing  for  suckers  in 
the  Sandy  River,  was  assaulted  by  three  Jagers,  his 
fishpole  and  three  fish  confiscated,  and  he  himself 
ducked  amid  grunts  of  universal  satisfaction. 

The  fury  of  the  ioth  company  passed  all  bounds 
when  Quinn  was  relegated  to  the  guard-house  for 
conduct  unbecoming  a  soldier;  but  the  Teutons 
never  strayed  from  their  barracks  except  in  force, 
and,  as  night  leave  was  forbidden  both  regiments, 
the  ioth  company  hesitated  to  inaugurate  riot  by 
daylight. 

Quinn,  squatting  in  the  guard-house  found  plenty 
of  leisure  to  hatch  revenge.  He  did  not  waste 
thought  on  mere  individual  schemes  for  assault  and 
battery  ;  he  meditated  a  master  stroke,  a  blow  at  the 
entire  regiment  calculated  to  tear  every  Teuton 
bosom.  The  two  objects  most  cherished  by  the 
Jagers  were  their  cat  and  a  disreputable  negro  who 
cooked  for  the  colonel.  How  to  combine  damage 
to  these    centres    of   Teutonic    affection    occupied 


AN   INTERNATIONAL   AFFAIR.  39 

Quinn's  waking  hours.  To  kidnap  the  cat ;  that 
was  not  enough, — the  Teutons  must  be  beguiled 
into  eating  their  cat — and  liking  it  too.  How  ? 
Quinn  sucked  at  an  empty  pipe  and  brooded.  Bribe 
the  negro  Cassius,  first  to  kidnap  the  cat,  then 
to  cook  it  ?  Quinn  writhed  maliciously  at  the 
prospect ;  he  hated  Tom,  the  black  and  white  cat 
who  sang  every  night  on  the  Jagers'  barrack  roof — 
sang  to  each  individual  star  in  the  firmament  to  the 
indignation  of  every  Irishman  in  Sandy  Landing. 

When  Quinn  emerged  from  the  guard-house  he 
took  council  with  Phelan  and  McCue ;  and  that 
evening  Hogan  was  despatched  to  tempt  Cassius 
with  promises  and  a  little  cash. 

The  affair  was  easier  than  Hogan  had  dared  hope  ; 
Cassius  took  the  cash  and  promised  to  betray,  and 
Hogan,  lips  compressed,  to  stifle  all  outward  mirth- 
ful symptoms,  went  back  to  the  barracks  where 
Quinn,  Phelan,  and  McCue  sat  waiting  in  pessimistic 
silence. 

"  He'll  not  kill  the  cat,"  said  Hogan,  "  he'll  fetch 
ut  in  a  bag  to  the  shanty  foreninst  the  hill, — d'ye 
mind  the  hut,  McCue?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  McCue  impressively. 

"Thin  be  aisy,"  continued  Hogan;  "we'll  skin  ut 
an'  co-ook  ut  an'  the  naygur  can  take  the  stew  to 
thot  Dootch  runaway  sodger,  Fallback,  bad  cess  to 
him  an'  his!     Pass  th'  potheen,  McCue." 

"  Sure  there's  not  stew  in  wan  cat  for  all !  "  ob- 
jected Phelan. 

"There  is !     There  is,"  said  Quinn  :  "  there's  cats 


40  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

in  town  to  be  had  for  the  askin',  an'  nary  a  Dootch- 
man  will  starve!  Usha !  but  they'll  be  crazy,  th' 
omadhouns!  " 

"  'Twill  choke  them,"  said  Phelan. 

"  Did  they  choke  wid  the  goat  they  shtole  ? " 
demanded  McCue  angrily. 

"I  met  Bummel  an'  Klein,"  continued  Quinn : 
"  Sure,  'I  sez,  '  'tis  dhirty  thricks  ye  play  on  the 
Irish.'  '  Phwat's  that?'  sez  Klein.  'Ye  ate  our 
goat,'  sez  I.  Wid  that  they  grinned  an'  me  phist 
hurrt  wid  the  timptayshun  of  Bummel's  nose." 

"  '  Sure,'  sez  I,  '  'tis  frinds  we  should  be  ! '  '  Sorra 
th'  day  !  '  sez  Klein.  '  Phwy  not  ?  '  sez  I.  '  Ye  hate 
us  an'  bate  us,'  sez  Klein ;  '  I'll  not  thrust  ye,  Mike 
Quinn.'  '  Take  me  hand,'  sez  I,  extindin'  me  fingers  ; 
wan  touch  of  nature,  me  lad  !  'Tis  a  crool  war 
entirely,  an'  it's  frinds  we'll  be,  an'  no  favor ! '  '  Prove 
ut,'  sez  he.  '  I  wull,'  sez  I,  '  an'  be  th*  same  token 
'tis  huntin'  we  go  this  day  week,  so  look  fur  a 
Christmas  dinner  to  shame  the  Pope's  cook.'  '  A 
dinner,'  sez  he,  '  wid  th'  town  betchune  us  ! '  '  Ye'll 
dine  wid  us,  yet,'  sez  I.  '  An'  how,'  sez  he,  a  lickin' 
the  chops  av  him.  '  Whin  ye  dine  wid  the  Irish  ye 
should  have  a  long  spoon,'  sez  I,  laughin'  friendly 
like.  '  We'll  sind  ye  a  shtew,  me  b'y,  if  God  sinds 
us  the  rabbits.'  Thin,'  continued  Quinn,  "  we 
parrted  genteel ;  an'  they'll  hear  we  have  lave  to 
hunt  on  Christmas  day — musha,  bad  luck  to  th' 
Dootch  scuts  ! — 'tis  cats  they'll  be  eatin'  this  blessed 
hour  come  Christmas,  an'  may  the  howly  saints  sind 
them  the  black  cramp  of  Drumgoole  !  " 


AN   INTERNATIONAL  AFFAIR.  41 


II. 

Christmas  eve,  while  Hogan  and  Phelan  lay  slum- 
bering, and  Quinn  and  McCue  walked  their  rounds, 
gloating  over  revenge,  Cassius  the  disreputable  sat 
in  the  kitchen  of  the  Jager  barracks  counting  the 
advanced  payment  of  cash  received  from  Hogan, 
and  leering  at  the  black  and  white  tom-cat  who 
dozed  peacefully  by  the  dying  fire. 

"  Pore  ole  Tom,"  muttered  Cassius  guiltily,  "  hit's 
gwinter  'sprise  dishyere  kitty.  'Spec  ole  Tom  gwin- 
ter  git  riled." 

The  cat  opened  its  yellow  eyes. 

'■  Gwinter  'sprise  ole  Tom,"  repeated  Cassius,  com- 
passionately pursing  up  his  lips. 

The  cat  began  to  purr. 

"  Pore  ole  Tom,"  sighed  the  darkey,  tremulous 
with  remorse. 

The  cat  rose  and  began  to  march  around,  purring 
and  hoisting  an  interrogative  tail. 

Cassius  continued  to  bemoan  Tom's  fate  and  re- 
count the  money  until  he  had  hardened  his  heart 
sufficiently.  Finally  he  pocketed  the  coins,  wiped 
his  eyes,  and  approached  the  cat  with  seductive  cau- 
tion. Tom  permitted  caresses,  courted  further  en- 
dearments, and  suffered  himself  to  be  seized  and 
dropped  into  a  potato  sack.     But,  once  imprisoned, 


42  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

he  scrambled  and  squalled  and  clawed  until  Cassius, 
unable  to  bear  the  sight  and  sound  of  Thomas's  dis- 
tress, deposited  the  sack  in  the  pantry  and  fled  from 
the  barracks  to  the  street. 

Guilt  weighed  heavily  on  the  darkey's  soul;  he 
shuffled  along,  battling  with  conscience,  trying 
to  think  of  some  compromise  to  save  the  cat  and 
his  money  at  the  same  time.  Moonlight  flooded 
hill  and  valley ;  he  heard  the  sentries  calling  from 
post  to  post,  the  stir  of  the  horses  in  the  artillery 
stables  across  the  square,  the  creaking  of  leafless 
branches  overhead.  He  went  around  to  the  chicken 
coop ;  he  often  went  there  to  enjoy  the  thrill 
of  a  temptation  that  he  dared  not  succumb  to,  also 
to  keep  stray  cats  from  doing  murder  on  their  own 
account.  For,  though  he  dared  not  steal  a  single 
chicken,  he  could  at  least  have  the  bitter  pleasure  of 
foiling  the  feline  marauders  of  Sandy  Landing. 
This  he  was  accustomed  to  do  with  a  tin  box,  placed 
on  its  side,  a  trip-stick,  a  string,  and  a  bit  of  bone 
for  bait.  Cat  after  cat  he  had  trapped  and  com- 
mitted to  the  depths  of  Sandy  River,  highly  com- 
mended by  his  colonel  and  the  rank  and  file  of  the 
Jagers.  Now,  as  he  stepped  softly  around  the  corner, 
his  eyes  fell  on  a  black  and  white  object,  stealing 
toward  the  window  where  the  long  tin  box  stood 
temptingly  baited.  The  next  instant  the  trip-stick 
clicked,  the  weighted  box-lid  fell  and  snapped, 
and  Cassius  seized  the  box  with  a  chuckle  of 
triumph. 

"  Cat !    Cat!  "  he  repeated,  addressing  the  frantic 


AN   INTERNATIONAL  AFFAIR.'  43 

inmate  of  the  box,  "doan'  yoh  count  yoh  chickens 
fore  dey's  hatched  ! — " 

Cassius  stopped  short,  pulsating  with  a  new  idea. 
Why  sacrifice  Tom  when  here  was  a  victim  ready 
at  hand,  doubtless  provided  by  Providence  in  the 
nick  of  time  to  save  a  poor  darkey  from  treachery? 
And  it  was  a  kind  of  treachery  that  even  Cassius 
found  uncongenial. 

"  Pit-a-pat !  Pit-a-pat !  "  mocked  Cassius  derisively 
listening  to  the  manoeuvres  of  the  imprisoned  victim; 
"Stop  dat  scratchin'  on  de  box!  He!  He!  He  I 
I'se  gwineter  let  ole  Tom  outen  de  bag, — pore  ole 
Tom !  Dishyere  nigger  ain't  no  Judas !  Lan's 
sakes  ! — dat  ole  cat  smell  kinder  funny  !  " 

He  wrinkled  his  nose,  sniffed,  turned  a  pair  of 
startled  eyes  on  the  big  box  under  his  arm,  then  a 
sickly  smile  of  intelligence  spread  over  his  face  and 
he  placed  the  box  gently  on  the  ground. 

"  Had  mah  s'picions  'bout  dat  black  an'  white 
kitty-cat,"    he  muttered. 

The  animal  inside  scratched  and  writhed  and 
scrambled. 

"  Lan's  sake  !  "  chuckled  Cassius,  grinning  from 
ear  to  ear,  "  'spec  dat  ole  pole-cat  gwine  twiss  he  tail 
off'n  'bout  two-free  minutes  !  Yah  !  yah  ! — he  !  he  ! 
yiah— ho ! " 

And,  as  he  entered  the  servant's  quarters  he  smote 
his  knees  and  shook  his  head,  and  laughed  and 
laughed  and  laughed. 

About  midnight  he  took  his  banjo  from  the  nail, 
thumbed  it,  and  began  to  croon  to  himself  : 


44  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Bob-cat  he  caynt  wag  he  tail— 
Ain  got  no  tail  foh  to  wag  1 
Brown-bear  clam'  de  ole  fence  rail, 
Rabbit  holler  ;  "  Whar  yoh  tail  ? " 
Bob-cat  larf  like  he  gwinter  bus' ; 
Pole-cat  stop  for  to  see  de  fuss, 
De  bob-cat  scoot,  de  bear  turn  pale, 
An'  de  rabbit  he  skip  froo  de  ole  fence  rail. 

"  Ef  yoh  wanter  see  a  tail,  "   sez  de  pole-cat  ;  "  see  I 
"  Mah  tail's  long  'nuff  foh  mah  folks  an'  me  I " 


III. 


About  three  o'clock  on  Christmas  afternoon, 
Hogan's  rifle  exploded  prematurely  and  killed  a  rab- 
bit. The  intense  astonishment  of  McCue,  Quinn 
and  Phelan  nerved  Hogan  for  more  glory,  and  he 
fired  at  every  tuft  of  hill-weed  until  his  cartridges 
were  gone,  and  his  temper  too. 

"  Bad  cess  to  me  goon  !  "  he  shouted,  "  'tis  twisted 
it  do  be,  an'  I'll  thank  ye  for  th'  loan  av  yere  piece, 
McCue." 

"  G'wan,"  said  McCue,  "  'till  I  show  ye  a  thrick  !  " 
— and  he  blazed  away  at  a  rapidly  vanishing  cotton- 
tail and  missed.  Occasionally,  firing  by  volleys,  they 
scored  a  rabbit  to  four  rifles,  and,  at  sunset,  McCue 
spread  out  a  dozen  or  so  cotton-tails  on  the  newly 
fallen  snow  before  the  door  of  the  hill  shanty. 
Phelan  wiped  his  brow  with  the  back  of  his 
fist. 


AN   INTERNATIONAL   AFFAIR.  45 

"  Phwere's  th'  naygur?"  he  demanded. 

Hogan  looked  at  his  watch  and  began  to  swear, 
just  as  Cassius  appeared  over  the  hilltop,  a  tin  box 
under  his  arm,  and  on  his  face  a  smile  of  confidence. 

"  Have  ye  th*  ould  Tom  !  "  demanded  Quinn,  as 
Cassius  shuffled  up  and,  depositing  the  tin  box  on 
the  doorstep,  looked  cheerfully  around. 

"  Evenin',  gemmen,  evenin',''  said  Cassius,  lick- 
ing his  lips  and  leaning  down  to  pinch  the  fat  rab- 
bits lying  in  a  row ;  "  Kinder  cold  dishyere  Chris'- 
mus,  gemmen.  'Spec  we  gwinter  'sperience  moh 
snow " 

"  Have  ye  the  cat?"  repeated  Quinn  sternly. 

"  'Cose  I  has"  said  Cassius  indignantly,  "an'  I'se 
come  foh  de  cash " 

"  Phwat's  that !  "  snarled  Hogan. 

"  Hould  a  bit !  "  interposed  Quinn  ;  "  is  the  torn 
in  the  box  now  ?  " 

"  'Cose  he  is,"  repeated  Cassius  ;  "  yaas,  sah,  dasser 
mighty  fine  kitty,  dat  is!  Hit  ain't  no  or'nary  cat, 
hit  ain't, — no  sah.     Dasser  pole-cat,  sah,  dat  is!" 

"  'Tis  a  Dootch  cat  !  "  said  Phelan. 

"  Sure  Poles  is  Dootch,  too,"  observed  McCue ; 
"  Phwat  are  ye  waitin'  for  I  dunno  ? "  he  added, 
scowling  at  the  darkey. 

"  I'se  lingerin'  foh  mah  cash,"  said  Cassius. 

"  G'wan  !  "  said  Phelan  briefly. 

Cassius  turned  an  injured  face  from  one  to  the 
other.  There  was  a  hostile  silence.  Phelan  pro- 
duced a  flour  sack  and  threw  the  rabbits  into  it, 
one  by  one. 


46  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  'Scuse  me,  gemmen,"  began  Cassius, — when  an 
exclamation  from  Quinn  silenced  him  and  drew  the 
attention  of  all  to  a  black-and-white  object  advanc- 
ing across  the  snow  toward  the  shanty. 

"  Lan's  sake !  "  muttered  Cassius,  "  pole-cat  in 
de  box  gwineter  draw  all  de  pole-cats  in  dishyere 
county ! " 

"  'Tis  a  rabbit ! "  said  McCue,  seizing  his  gun. 

"  It's  a  cat !  "  said  Hogan,  "  d'yez  mind  th'  tail 
of  ut ! " 

"  Dat  ain't  no  cat,"  said  Cassius  contemptuously, 
"  dasser  skunk." 

"  Skoonk  is  it  ?  An  phwat's  a  skoonk,  ye  black 
mutt  ? "  demanded  McCue.  At  the  same  instant 
Phelan  fired  and  missed ;  Quinn,  paralysed  with 
buck-fever,  clutched  his  rifle,  mouth  agape,  while 
Hogan,  in  an  access  of  excitement,  began  shouting 
and  kicking  the  darkey  from  snowdrift  to  snow- 
drift. 

"  Now  will  ye  grin  !  "  he  yelled ;  "  G'wan  home 
ye  omadhoun  ! — " 

"  Leggo  mah  wool  ! "  retorted  the  darkey,  and 
rose  from  the  snow  with  sullen  alacrity :  "  Wha' 
foh  yoh  yank  mah  kinks  ?  " 

"  Faith  then,  fur  luck  an'  bad-luck,"  said  Hogan 
and  followed  McCue  into  the  deserted  shanty. 

A  moment  later,  Quinn  and  Phelan  came  back 
after  an  eager  but  fortunately  fruitless  quest  for 
the  game,  and  McCue  and  Hogan  issued  from  the 
shanty,  bearing  the  tin  box,  ready  to  return  to  the 
barracks. 


AN   INTERNATIONAL  AFFAIR.  47 

"  Me  heavy  hand  on  th'  naygur  !  "  growled  Mc- 
Cue  :  "  he's  gone,  where  ? — I  dunno,  but  he'll  carry 
the  bag  o'  rabbits  or  me  name's  not  McCue  !  Call 
him,  Hogan." 

"  Come  out,  ye  bat-o'-th'-bog,  ye  !  Where  are 
ye  now ! — tne  Red  Witch  o'  Drumgoole  follow  ye  ! " 
shouted  Hogan,  tramping  around  the  shanty  and 
poking  under  the  steps. 

"  Lave  th'  black  scut,"  said  McCue  with  dignity, 
"  I'll  carry  the  sack.  Have  ye  th'  sack  ?  "  he  added, 
turning  to  Phelan. 

"  I  have  not,"  said  Phelan,  "  'twas  there  foreninst 
the  shanty." 

"  Now  the  red  itch  o'  Drumgoole  on  him  ! " 
shouted  McCue.  "  Usha,  musha,  he's  gone  wid  the 
sack,  an'  divil  a  bit  or  a  sup  av  a  shtew  ye'll  eat 
the  night !  Sorra  the  rabbit  he's  left  ! — me  heavy 
hand  on  him  an'  his ! — may  the  saints  sind  him  sor- 
row this  blessed  night  !  " 

"  We  have  th'  ould  torn  in  th'  box,"  said  Quinn, 
with  a  significant  flourish  of  his  rifle. 

"  There's  no  luck  in  it — Care  killed  a  cat,  an' 
worrit  the  kittens.  Begorra ! — I'll  kill  no  cat  at  all, 
at  all!"  replied  McCue  superstitiously. 

"  May  the  Dootch  robbers  choke  whin  they  sup 
this  night  ! "  shouted  Phelan  ;  "  Wirra  the  day  I  set 
eye  on  the  naygur  an'  his  Dootch  whippets  !  " 

"They'll  have  no  luck,  mark  that! — McCue!" 
said  Hogan  :  "  We've  their  Tom  in  a  box  an'  they'll 
have  no  luck  !  " 

They  gathered  up  their  rifles  in  silence ;  McCue 


48  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

carried  the  box  ;  one  by  one  they  filed  down  the 
darkening  hillside  toward  the  village  where  already 
a  lantern  or  two  glimmered  along  the  stockade  and 
the  bugles  were  sounding  the  evening  call. 

When  the  sportsmen  reached  the  barracks,  and  it 
became  known  that  the  Jagers'  tom-cat  had  been 
captured,  the  regiment  went  wild  with  enthusiasm. 
It  was  decided  not  to  open  the  box  at  once,  be- 
cause the  cat  might  hastily  migrate  toward  the 
familiar  barracks  of  the  Jagers ;  but  Quinn,  the 
prime  mover  in  the  capture  of  Thomas,  was  selected 
a  delegate  of  one  to  present  the  box  to  Colonel  Ban- 
non  as  a  surprise  and  a  Christmas  gift  from  the 
whole  regiment. 

So,  that  night,  the  regiment  ate  their  Christmas 
dinner  in  eager  anticipation,  and  their  hilarity  was 
scarcely  marred  by  Hogan's  report  that  the  Jagers' 
barracks  resounded  with  a  joyous  din  of  feasting  and 
song. 

"May  th'  banshee  worrit  thim !  Let  them  be 
wid  their  futther — an' — mutther  !  May  the  red 
banshee  sup  with  them  in  hell !  "  said  Quinn  as  he 
rose  in  obedience  to  the  orderly  who  said  the  Colonel 
would  receive  him. 

He  took  the  tin  box  gingerly,  for  the  animal  in- 
side was  very  lively,  and  he  followed  the  orderly  to 
the  door  of  the  messroom  in  the  officer's  quarters. 

Here  the  orderly  left  him  a  moment  but  returned 
directly  and  whispered  : 

"  The  colonel  knows  it's  the  Dootch  cat  ye  have, 
— but  ye'll  say  ye  bought  it.     Sure  he's  a  dacent 


AN   INTERNATIONAL  AFFAIR.  49 

man,  is  Colonel  Bannon,  an'  no  love  lost  betwixt 
him  an'  Fallback.     Are  ye  ready  now?" 

"  Yis,"  said  Quinn  firmly,  forage  cap  in  one  hand, 
box  in  the  other  :  "  is  the  rigiment  outside  on  the 
parade  ?  " 

"  It  is,  an'  ready  to  cheer." 

"  Then  in  I  go,"  said  Quinn. 

The  colonel  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  flanked 
by  his  staff  and  line  officers.  His  face,  a  little  red 
with  Christmas  cheer,  was  gravely  composed  for  the 
occasion.  His  officers,  to  a  man,  beamed  with 
anticipation. 

"  Quinn,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  Sorr,"  said  Quinn,  standing  at  attention. 

"  This  is  a  very  pleasant  occasion,"  said  the  Colo- 
nel, "  and  I  am  gratified  that  my  men  have  re- 
membered their  colonel  upon  this  blessed  day.  I 
am  told  you  have  a  surprise  for  me,  Quinn." 

"  Yis  sorr, — a  cat,  sorr." 

."  A  cat !  "  said  the  Colonel  in  affected  surprise. 

"We've  lost  our  goat,  sorr,  but  we'll  conshole  our 
sorrow  wid  a  cat,  sorr — Colonel  Bannon's  cat  if  you 
plaze,  sorr." 

The  Colonel's  eyes  twinkled. 

"'Tis  a  dacent  kitty,  sorr,"  said  Quinn,  undoing 
the  rope  that  held  the  lid  ;  "  a  Dootch  Kitty  they 
do  say  from  Poland,  sorr,  where  we  sint  for  a  dozen 
an'  this  is  the  pick  o'  them." 

The  Colonel  suppressed  a  smile ;  the  officers 
gurgled. 

"  I  have  the  spachless  honor,  sorr,"  said  Quinn, 
4 


50  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

placing  the  box  on  the  table  before  the  Colonel, — 
"  I  have  the  unmintionable  deloight  inpresinting  to 
our  beloved  Colonel  in  the  name  av  his  beloved 
rigiment,  this  illegant  kitty  !  " 

And  he  took  off  the  lid. 

There  was  a  silence.  Suddenly  a  long  slender 
black  and  white  creature  sprang  from  the  box  to 
the  table,  flourishing  a  beautiful  bushy  tail ;  there 
came  a  yell,  a  frightful  stampede,  a  crash  of  glass, 
a  piteous  shriek  from  the  Colonel  under  the  sofa : 
"Quinn!  Quinn !  Ye  murtherin'  scut!  Tis  a 
skoonk !  Usha,  but  I'll  have  yer  life  fur  this  night's 
work  !  " 

And  Quinn,  taking  his  nose  firmly  in  both  hands, 

pranced  away  like  one  demented — fled  for  his  life 

through  the  falling  snow  of  that  blessed  Christmas 

night. 

***** 

In  the  barracks  of  the  Jagers  was  song  and  jest 
and  Christmas  cheer : — shouting  and  feasting  and 
heart-friendships,  and  the  intermittent  din  of  trom- 
bones. 

Cassius,  feeding  to  repletion  in  the  kitchen  with  a 
bowl  of  rabbit  stew  between  his  knees,  paused  to 
hold  his  aching  sides  because  it  hurt  him  to  laugh 
when  he  ate.  Beside  him  on  the  floor,  Thomas 
licked  his  whiskers,  and  yawned  and  stared  into  the 
dying  fire. 


SMITH'S  BATTERY 


A  new  warre  e're  while  arose  — 
Lovelace. 


SMITH'S  BATTERY. 

Impotent  Pieces  of  the  Game  He  plays 
Upon  this  Checker-board  of  Nights  and  Days  ; 
Hither  and  thither  moves,  and  checks,  and  slays, 
And  one  by  one  back  in  the  Closet  lays. 

Fitzgerald. 

On  the  evening  of  the  15th  the  cavalry  left  by 
moonlight,  riding  along  the  railroad  toward  Slow- 
River-Junction.  The  bulk  of  the  infantry  followed 
two  days  later,  leaving  behind  them  "  The  Dead 
Rabbits," — a  New  York  regiment, — a  squad  of 
cavalry,  and  Smith's  four-gun  battery,  to  garrison  a 
hamlet  inhabited  principally  by  mosquitoes. 

The  hamlet  of  Slow-River  contained  a  red  brick 
church,  some  houses,  a  water-tank,  and  a  race-track. 
The  "  Dead  Rabbits  "  established  their  warren  in  the 
race-track  sheds,  the  cavalry  guarded  the  railway 
and  water-tank,  and  Smith's  battery  decorated  the 
graveyard  around  the  red  brick  church. 

The  inhabitants  of  Slow-River,  barring  the  mos- 
quitoes, had  mostly  disappeared  toward  Dixie  be- 
fore the  arrival  of  Wilson's  division.  When  Wilson 
moved  on  toward  the  Junction,  leaving  behind  him 
the  "  Dead  Rabbits," — and  Smith's  Battery  to  take 

53 


54  THE   HAUNTS   OF  MEN. 

care  of  them — the  non-combatant  population  of 
Slow-River  numbered  two, — not  including  an 
Ethiopian  of  no  account. 

Smith,  of  Smith's  Battery,  had  constituted  him- 
self an  inquisition  of  one.  The  Reverend  Laomi 
Smull,  pastor  of  the  brick  church  took  the  oath  of 
allegiance  and  smacked  the  Book  with  moist  thick 
lips.  Mrs.  Ashley,  the  remaining  inhabitant  of 
Slow-River,  widow  of  a  Union  officer  killed  in  the 
early  days  of  the  war,  took  the  oath  earnestly,  then 
told  Smith  who  she  was  and  received  his  apologies 
with  sensitive  reserve. 

"  I  wished  to  take  the  oath,"  she  said  :  "  I  have 
not  had  my  country  brought  so  near  for  many 
months." 

The  Reverend  Laomi  Smull,  clasped  his  soft 
fingers  together  and  surveyed  the  firmament  while 
Mrs.  Ashley  brushed  the  tears  from  her  blue  eyes. 
When  she  thanked  Smith  for  the  privilege  of  pub- 
licly acknowledging  her  country,  the  Reverend 
Laomi  nodded  and  closed  his  small  eyes  as  though 
in  ecstatic  contemplation  of  a  soul  regenerated. 

"  Where's  the  nigger  ?  "  inquired  Smith  when  Mrs. 
Ashley  had  gone  back  to  her  cottage  below  the 
church. 

"  Do  you  refer  to  our  unfortunate  coloured 
brother?"  suggested  the  reverend  gentleman. 

"  Oh  yes — of  course,"  said  Smith,  fidgeting  with 
his  sabre. 

"  Abiatha  is  angling  from  the  bridge,"  said  Smull 
wagging  his  double  chin  till  his  collar  creaked. 


smith's  battery.  55 

"  What  is  he  fishing  for,"  inquired  Smith,  who 
was  an  angler. 

"  Fish,"  said  the  Reverend  Laomi,  and  entered 
his  church  with  more  agility  than  his  fat  bulk  ap- 
peared to  warrant. 

At  the  door  he  turned  to  cast  one  last  sly  glance 
at  the  firmament. 

Smith,  distrustful,  and  of  the  earth  earthy,  walked 
back  to  the  graveyard,  lifting  his  sabre  to  prevent 
the  clanking  of  the  scabbard  on  fallen  grave-stones. 

"Look  out  for  that  pastor,"  he  said  to  Steele: 
"  if  I  know  a  copperhead  from  a  copper  kettle  he's 
one  with  double  fangs." 

"  You  think  he  may  play  tricks?  "  asked  Steele, 
toasting  a  rasher  of  bacon  on  the  coals  before  his 
feet. 

"Yes,  I  do.  He'll  get  no  passes  from  me,  I  can 
tell  you.  I'm  going  up  into  the  church  tower.  Is 
there  a  bell  there  ?  " 

"  A  cracked  one,"  said  Steele. 

"  I'll  take  the  clapper  out,"  observed  Smith.  He 
accepted  a  bit  of  bacon  from  Steele,  laid  it  on  a  morsel 
of  hardtack,  munched  silently  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
washed  his  breakfast  down  with  a  tin  of  coffee, 
returned  Steele's  salute,  and  entered  the  church 
through  the  vestry.  Climbing  the  belfry  ladder  on 
tiptoe,  cap  in  hand,  he  could  not  prevent  the  ladder 
from  creaking.  So,  when  he  stepped  out  on  the 
loosely  laid  planks  beside  the  bell,  he  found  the 
Reverend  Laomi  Smull  leaning  on  the  belfry-ledge, 
preoccupied  with  the  sky. 


56  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman  with  a  start, 
"  is  it  my  young  friend,  Captain  Smythe  ?" 

"Smith,"  said  the  officer  dryly,  and  felt  in  the 
bell  for  the  iron  clapper. 

"Where  is  the  clapper?"  he  added  turning  on 
Smull. 

The  Reverend  Laomi  regarded  him  calmly. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  said. 

To  search  the  person  of  the  minister  was  Smith's 
first  impulse  ;  Smull  divined  it  and  smiled  sadly. 

"  He's  thrown  it  from  the  tower  where  he  can 
find  it,"  thought  Smith.  Then  he  drew  a  jackknife 
from  his  blouse,  cut  the  two  bell-ropes  and  let  them 
drop  to  the  tiled  floor  far  below.  The  thwack  of 
the  ropes  echoed  through  the  silent  church  ;  Smith 
apologised  for  the  military  precaution  and  stepped 
to  the  tower  parapet.  There  he  could  look  out 
over  the  ravaged  country  toward  the  Junction  where 
rumour  reported  an  ominous  concentration  of  Union 
troops.  He  could  see  the  water-tower  and  the 
railroad  and  cavalry  patroling  the  embankment  in 
the  morning  sunshine.  He  could  see  the  weather- 
stained  sheds  of  the  race-track  where  the  "  Dead 
Rabbits "  prowled,  a  nuisance  and  sometimes  a 
terror  to  everybody  except  the  enemy.  Behind 
him  he  heard  the  Reverend  Laomi  pattering  about 
over  the  loose  planks  that  formed  the  belfry  floor- 
ing. 

"  I  shall  station  a  signal  officer  here,"  he  said 
without  turning. 

"  Sir,"  stammered  the  minister. 


SMITH  S   BATTERY.  57 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Smith  impatiently :  "  we  need 
the  church  more  than  you  do." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Smull  in  a  peculiarly 
soft  voice. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  exclude  you — "  began  Smith  turn- 
ing,— and  those  words  had  wellnigh  been  his  last, 
for  one  leg  slipped  through  an  unexpected  fissure 
between  the  planks,  and  he  clutched  a  beam  beside 
him  and  drew  himself  up,  deadly  pale. 

He  looked  at  Smull ;  the  clergyman  overwhelmed 
him  with  congratulations  on  his  escape  from  pitch- 
ing headlong  to  the  tiled  floor  below.  He  spoke  of 
the  mercy  of  Providence,  of  the  miracles  of  the 
Most  High  ;  he  deplored  the  condition  of  the  belfry 
floor;  he  reproached  himself  for  not  noticing  the 
fissure. 

"  I  did  not  notice  it  either — when  I  came  up," 
said  Smith. 

He  followed  Smull  down  the  ladder  and  out  of 
the  church,  returning  the  reverend  gentleman's 
salute  gravely.  Then  he  ordered  Steele  to  use  the 
church  for  barracks  and  march  his  men  in  without 
delay. 

"  Into  the  church  ?  "  repeated  Steele. 

"  I  guess  Union  soldiers  won't  desecrate  this 
church  or  any  other  church,"  said  Smith  savagely, 
and  turned  on  his  heel. 

On  his  way  to  the  river  he  passed  Mrs.  Ashley's 
cottage ;  she  was  hanging  a  home-made  flag  over 
the  porch ;  the  stars  and  stripes  were  not  symmet- 
rical, but  they  were  stars  and  stripes. 


58  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

She  stood  on  the  top  of  a  ladder,  hammering 
tacks  and  holding  the  red,  white,  and  blue  folds  in 
her  pretty  mouth.  Occasionally  she  hammered  one 
pink-tipped  ringer  instead  of  a  tack;  at  such  mo- 
ments she  repeated,  "  Oh  dear  !  " 

Smith,  cap  in  hand,  offered  to  hold  the  ladder ; 
Mrs.  Ashley  thanked  him  and  continued  to  hammer 
serenely,  until  she  remembered  her  ankles  and  de- 
scended precipitately.  Then  Smith  climbed  the 
ladder,  drew  out  all  the  tacks  Mrs.  Ashley  had 
hammered  in,  rehung  the  "  symbol  of  light  and 
law,"  draped  and  nailed  it  with  military  rigidity, 
and  descended,  covered  with  perspiration  and  mos- 
quito bites. 

Mrs.  Ashley,  cool  and  sweet  in  a  white  gown  and 
black  sash,  thanked  him  and  offered  him  a  cup  of 
tea  under  the  magnolias.  He  accepted  and  sat 
down,  sabre  between  his  knees,  to  mop  his  face  and 
evade  mosquitoes  until  she  returned  with  two  cups 
of  cold  tea,  creamless  and  sugarless. 

"  I  have  some  limes — if  you  wish, — Captain 
Smith,"  she  ventured,  holding  out  the  golden-green 
fruit  in  her  smooth  palm. 

He  thanked  her  and  squeezed  a  lime  into  his  tea. 

Overhead,  among  the  magnolia  blossoms,  the  sum- 
mer harmony  had  already  begun  with  the  deep  sym- 
phony of  bees  ;  butterflies  hovered  under  the  per- 
fumed branches  ;  a  grasshopper  clicked  incessantly 
among  the  myrtle  vines. 

Mrs.  Ashley  rested  her  chin  on  her  wrist  and 
looked  at  nothing.     A  breeze  began  to  stir  the  folds 


smith's  battery.  59 

of  the  draped  flag  over  the  porch  ;  the  crimson 
stripes  undulated,  the  stars  rose  and  fell. 

"  We  hear  nothing  in  Slow  River,"  said  Mrs. 
Ashley  :  "  has  anything  important  happened,  Captain 
Smith?"     Her  voice  was  almost  inaudible. 

"  Nothing  important.  The  last  battle  went 
against  us." 

"  Will  there  be  a  battle  here  ?  " 

"  No — I  don't  know — I  have  no  reason  to  suppose 
so,"  he  said  with  conscientious  precision.  "  If  by 
any  possible  chance  the  rebel  cavalry  should  ride 
around  our  army  we  might  be  visited  here,  but," 
he  added,  "  the  contingency  is  too  remote  for  specu- 
lation." 

"Too  remote  for  speculation?"  repeated  Mrs. 
Ashley  under  her  breath. 

Smith  looked  up  at  her — he  had  been  watching  a 
file  of  ants  bearing  off  minute  crumbs  from  the  bis- 
cuit he  was  nibbling.  Smith's  shoulder-straps  were 
too  recent  to  admit  of  trifling,  and  he  had  an  instinct 
that  Mrs.  Ashley  considered  him  young. 

"  Too  remote  for  speculation,"  he  repeated,  and 
touched  the  down  on  his  upper  lip  with  decision. 
The  faintest  flicker  of  amusement  stirred  Mrs. 
Ashley's  blue  eyes. 

They  spoke  of  the  war,  of  battles  on  land  and  sea, 
of  sieges  and  blockades,  of  prisons  and  of  death. 
Listening  to  her  passionless  voice  he  forgot  his 
shoulder-straps  for  a  while.  She  noticed  it.  She 
spoke  now  as  a  very  young  hostess  to  a  distinguished 
guest,  and  he  appreciated    it.     Little  by  little  they 


60  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

dropped  into  the  half  frank,  half  guarded  repertoire 
peculiar  to  conventional  civilisation  ;  he  recognised 
her  beauty ;  she  conceded  his  gallantry  ;  the  bees 
buzzed  among  the  magnolias  ;  the  warm  breeze 
stirred  the  flag. 

Sitting  there  with  white  fingers  interlaced,  and 
blue  eyes  demurely  fixed  on  his,  she  wondered  at 
the  pains  she  took  to  wind  him  around  the  least  of 
those  white  fingers  of  hers.  Yet  there  was  reason 
enough  for  her ;  her  reason,  in  concrete  form, 
skulked  up-stairs  under  a  mound  of  bedclothes, — 
a  sallow  faced,  furtive  young  man,  reported  killed 
at  Bull  Run, — a  deserter  from  the  Union  army,  a 
Rebel  at  heart,  too  cowardly  to  back  his  convictions, 
— the  blight  and  sorrow  and  curse  of  her  young  life 
— her  husband. 

From  the  day  of  their  marriage,  she  had  found 
him  out  and  loathed  him,  yet,  when  he  marched 
with  a  loyal  regiment,  she  had  bade  him  God-speed. 

When  the  news  came  from  Bull  Run  she  had  wept 
and  forgiven  him  the  past,  because  he  had  been  good 
to  her  in  death, — he  had  left  her  the  widow  of  a 
Union  soldier.  His  apparition  in  Slow  River  almost 
killed  her.  The  Reverend  Laomi  Smull  sarcas- 
tically bade  her  rejoice  and  put  off  her  widow's 
weeds.     She  did  neither. 

Suddenly  Wilson's  advance  was  signalled  from  the 
hills  beyond  the  river ;  the  population  of  Slow 
River  fled  Dixie-ward, — all  except  young  Ashley, 
who  lay  sleeping  off  a  debauch  in  his  own  gutter. 
The    Reverend    Laomi     preferred    to    remain    for 


smith's  battery.  6i 

several  reasons.  Hours  after  the  Union  cavalry 
dashed  into  the  village,  Ashley  awoke  to  conscious- 
ness. When  he  comprehended  what  had  happened 
he  crawled  into  bed  and  cursed  his  wife  and  his  luck 
and  the  Union  Army  impartially. 

With  what  loathing  did  she  aid  in  concealing 
him  !  With  what  desperation  did  she  evade  ques- 
tions and  intrusive  patrols  and  the  quiet  questions 
of  officers,  courteous  young  fellows  in  blue,  who 
accepted  her  word  of  honour  with  a  bow  and  went 
away,  deceived  by  a  loyal  woman — the  wife  of  a 
coward  and  traitor — for  that  traitor's  sake. 

But  she  must  play  the  frightful  comedy  to  the 
end  ;  she  was  doing  it  now,  smiling  back  at  Smith 
with  eyes  that  caressed  ;  with  death  in  her  heart. 

When  he  rose  to  go  she  dropped  him  the  quaintest 
and  stateliest  courtesy  that  can  be  dropped  by  a  girl 
of  twenty.  His  cap  swept  the  tall  grass-blades; 
Southern  chivalry  is  infectious.  So  he  passed  on 
his  way  to  the  river. 

Five  minutes  later  the  Reverend  Laomi  Smull 
appeared  at  the  gate,  smirked  at  the  young  wife, 
entered  the  cottage,  and  ascended  the  stairs  with  a 
parodoxical  nimbleness  that  displayed  two  white 
cotton  socks  and  inadequate  attention  to  personal 
ensemble. 

Smith  pursued  his  way  to  the  river  through  a 
weed-tangled  path  choked  with  rank  marshy  stalks, 
mint,  elder,  and  wild  lady-slipper.  The  little  brown 
honey-bees  hummed  from  bud  to  bud ;  dragon-flies, 
balanced   in    mid-air  on    quivering   wings,  selected 


62  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

plump  mosquitoes  from  the  cloud  that  wavered 
above  Smith's  head,  and  darted  so  close  to  his  ears 
that  he  dodged  like  anew  recruit  at  a  bullet.  When 
he  came  to  the  narrow  sluggish  river,  where  a  foot- 
bridge swayed  in  the  amber  eddies,  he  took  his 
cigar  from  his  mouth  and  his  Bible  from  his  pocket. 

A  dilapidated  individual  of  African  descent,  legs 
dangling  over  the  water,  fishpole  clasped  in  both 
black  fists,  glanced  up  at  the  young  officer  and  said  : 
"  Mohnin'  suh  !"  Smith  nodded,  looked  hard  at  the 
darkey,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  restored  the 
cigar  to  his  lips  and  the  Bible  to  his  pocket. 

"  What  are  you  fishing  for,  Uncle?  "  he  asked. 

"  Fishin'  foh  bass,  suh,"  replied  the  dilapidated 
one. 

"  Catch  any  ?  " 

"  I  done  cotch  free  bass  an'  a  tarrypin  turkle, 
suh." 

"  Want  to  sell  them  ?  " 

"No,  suh," 

"  Going  to  eat  them  all  yourself,  Uncle  ?  " 

"  I's  gotter  right  ter,"  said  the  angler  combatively. 

Smith  glanced  down  on  the  river  sand  where, 
anchored  to  a  string,  three  plump  bass  floated  out 
in  the  current. 

"  Are  you  going  to  eat  the  terrapin,  too,  Uncle  ?  " 

"  Co's  I  is,"  sniffed  the  darkey  ;  "  I's  gotter  right 
ter." 

"Let's see  it,"  said  Smith. 

The  angler  climbed  down  to  the  strip  of  sand, 
picked  up  the  terrapin,  and  held  it  out  to  Smith. 


smith's  battery.  63 

"How  much?"  asked  Smith. 

"  Two  dollahs,  suh." 

Smith  paid  the  money  grimly,  picked  up  the  ter- 
rapin, and  stood  a  moment  watching  the  darkey 
climb  back  to  his  perch  on  the  footbridge. 

"You'll  leave  your  footprints  on  the  sand  of 
time,"  said  Smith  ;  "you'll  be  in  Wall  Street  in  a 
month — or  in  Sing-Sing." 

"  Wha's  dat  yoh's  a-sayin'  'bout  leabin'  shoe- 
prints  on  de  san's  ob  time,  suh  ?  "  asked  the  sable 
one,  much  interested. 

"Nothing.  If  you  get  anymore  terrapin,  bring 
them  to  the  artillery  camp.  What's  your  name, 
Uncle?" 

"  Nuffin',  suh?" 

"No  name?" 

"  No  suh,  jess  'Biah,  suh." 

"  Oh— Alcibiades  ?     No?     Then  Abiatha?  " 

"Yaas,  suh." 

"  Whose  darkey  are  you  ?  " 

"  Mis'  Ashley's  niggah,  suh." 

"  Oh  !     And  the  fish  are  for  Mrs.  Ashley  ?  " 

"  Yaas,  suh.  Gwineter  tote  'em  back  foh  dinner, 
suh." 

"  Then,"  said  Smith,  "  take  back  your  terrapin 
too,  you  rascal !  How  dare  you  sell  your  mistress's 
property  !  " 

'Biah  watched  the  terrapin  fall  on  the  sands  again, 
then  he  ruefully  fished  out  the  two  dollars  from 
some  rent  in  his  ragged  coat.  For  a  moment  he  strug- 
gled to  tell  the   truth,— that  Mrs.  Ashley,    in  the 


64  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

present  state  of  her  finances,  would  rather  have 
twenty-five  cents  than  a  dozen  terrapins.  Perhaps 
he  feared  Mrs.  Ashley's  wrath,  perhaps  a  spark  of 
Mrs.  Ashley's  pride  had  lodged  beneath  his  own 
shirtless  bosom.  He  said  nothing,  but  rose,  holding 
his  fishpole  in  one  hand,  and  sidled  along  the  foot- 
bridge toward  Smith,  money  clutched  in  one  out- 
stretched fist. 

Smith  glanced  at  the  four  silver  half-dollars. 

"  Keep  them  and  buy  a  coat,  'Biah,"  he  said,  re- 
lighting his  cigar.  At  the  same  instant  a  big  bass 
seized  'Biah's  hook  and  made  off  with  it,  and  'Biah, 
losing  his  balance,  dropped  the  silver  coins  into  the 
river.  Then  the  tattered  African  lost  his  head,  too  ; 
for  a  minute,  bass,  darkey,  pole,  and  line  became  a 
blurr  on  the  bridge,  on  the  sands  below,  and  finally 
in  the  water. 

When  'Biah  emerged,  he  had  the  bass  by  the 
gills  ;  later  he  fished  out  pole  and  line,  while  Smith, 
wading  through  the  shallows  in  his  cavalry-boots, 
poked  about  for  the  lost  coins  with  the  butt  of  his 
sabre-scabbard. 

Ten  minutes  later  'Biah  had  recovered  three  of 
the  half  dollars.  Smith  had  found  something  else, 
— a  bundle  of  soaked  clothes  bearing  United  States 
army  buttons  and  a  second  lieutenant's  shoulder 
straps. 

Instinctively  he  tossed  the  soaked  packet  into  the 
alders  and  walked  carelessly  back  to  the  footbridge 
where  'Biah,  absorbed  in  disentangling  his  tackle, 
breathed    hard    and    deep   and    muttered    maledic- 


smith's  battery,  65 

tions  on  "  dat  ole  bull-bass  what  fink  he  know  a 
heap  moh'n  ole  'Biah." 

"  Done  drap  mah  hook  in  de  hole,"  he  puffed ; 
"  gwine  ter  gitter  hook  an'  tote  mah  fish,  suh. 
Mohnin',  suh,  mohnin',  "  ;  and  'Biah  scrambled  to 
his  feet  and  shuffled  back  along  the  weed-grown 
footpath  that  led  to  Mrs.  Ashley's  cottage. 

When  the  negro  had  disappeared,  Smith  leaped 
lightly  to  the  sand  below,  parted  the  alders,  found 
the  bundle  of  clothes,  and  cut  the  cord  with  his 
sabre. 

"  New  clothes,"  he  muttered  :  "  not  a  patch,  not 
a  rag — hello — what's  this?" 

He  drew  a  soaked  bit  of  paper  from  the  breast- 
pocket of  the  jacket,  and,  standing  in  the  alders, 
read  the  pencilled  memorandum. 

It  was  a  receipt  signed  by  the  Reverend  Laomi 
Smull  for  pew-rent  received  from  Anderson  Ashley. 
But  what  troubled  Smith  was  the  date,  for,  if  Mrs. 
Ashley's  husband  had  been  killed  at  Bull  Run,  how 
could  he  be  renting  pews  from  the  Reverend  Laomi 
in  Slow-River?  Smith  examined  the  paper  closely  ; 
it  read : 

"  Received  from  Anderson  Ashley,  Esquire,  $3.75, 
pew-rent  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Anderson  Ashley." 

The  date,  two  months  back,  startled  him.  As  he 
stood,  holding  the  paper,  staring  vacantly  at  the 
motionless  leaves  on  the  alders,  far  away  he  heard 
the  noon  call  from  the  artillery  bugles,  taken  up  by 
the  cavalry  trumpets  at  the  water-tank,  and  passed 
on  to  the  infantry  around  the  race-track.  He  shoved 
5 


66  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

the  wet  clothes  under  a  fallen  log,  opened  the  Bible 
in  his  pocket,  placed  the  folded  receipt  between 
the  leaves,  and,  carrying  the  Bible  in  one  hand, 
sword  in  the  other,  went  back  along  the  tangled 
footpath  toward  Mrs.  Ashley's  cottage. 

III. 

When  the  Reverend  Laomi  Smull  displayed  un- 
expected agility  on  Mrs.  Ashley's  staircase,  Ashley 
himself,  hearing  the  ascending  footsteps,  cowered 
under  the  bed  quilts  and  turned  cold  to  the  marrow 
of  every  bone. 

"  It's  me,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman,  enter- 
ing the  bed-room  and  waving  his  fat  hands  at  the 
pile  of  quilts  under  which  Ashley  squirmed  in  fear : 
"  it's  me,  Ashley,"  he  repeated,  disregarding  the 
finer  points  of  grammatical  construction  :  "  Moseby's 
men  is  in  the  hills  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

Ashley's  dissipated  face  emerged  from  the  bed- 
covers. Fear  stamped  every  feature  with  a  grimace 
that  amused  Smull. 

"What  did  you  say  about  Moseby's  men?" 
stammered  Ashley. 

"  They're  in  the  hills  across  the  river,"  repeated 
Smull:  "  I  seen  smoke  on  Painted  Rock." 

"  It's  a  blockade  still,"  suggested  Ashley. 

"  No  it  ain't,"  retorted  Smull ;  "  it's  green  wood 
burnin  ' — don't  I  know  a  still,  hey  ?  It's  Confede- 
rate cavalry,  an'  they've  ridden  around  the  Yankee 
army,  that's  what  they've  done." 


smith's  battery.  67 

Ashley  protruded  his  long  pallid  neck,  looked 
around  like  an  alarmed  turkey,  in  a  weed  patch,  and 
finally  stared  at  Smull. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  fat  cunning  on  Smull's  face  was  indescrib- 
able. 

"  Do  ?  "  repeated  Smull. 

"  Yes,  do !  Didn't  Moseby  tell  you  to  ring  the 
church  bell  on  Sunday  as  many  times  as  there  was 
Yankee  companies  in  Slow-River  ?  Didn't  he  tell 
you  to  hang  out  your  washing  according  to  code, — a 
shirt,  '  come,'  two  shirts  '  run,'  a  red  undershirt, 
'  run  like  the  devil ' — say,  didn't  he  and  you  fix  up 
the  code  ?  " 

Smull's  small  eyes  rested  on  the  door,  then  on 
Ashley. 

"  The  Yankee  Battery  Captain  came  to  look  at 
the  bell.  I  threw  the  clapper  out  into  the  bushes," 
he  said. 

After  a  moment  he  added :  "  He  came  near  fall- 
ing through  the  plank  floor.  Frightened  me  to 
death — most." 

Ashley's  eyes  met  his  ;  Smull  raised  a  fat  white 
hand  to  conceal  the  expression  of  his  mouth. 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  said  Ashley  petulantly, 
"but  I  reckon  you'd  better  go.  If  I'm  caught  I'm 
toted  out  to  a  shootin'  match — and  I'll  be  the  tar- 
get too." 

This  observation  appeared  to  start  a  new  train  of 
thought  in  Smull's  mind.  And,  as  he  cogitated,  his 
expression  changed  from  sly  malice  to  complacence, 


6$  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

and  then  to  that  sanctimonious  smirk  with  which, 
in  the  garden  below,  he  had  greeted  Mrs.  Ashley. 

"  Ashley,"  he  said  gravely,  "  I  can't  give  no  sig- 
nals to  Moseby,  nohow.  I  regret,"  he  continued 
piously,  "  I  regret  and  see  the  error  that  the  South 
has  made  in  this  here  unchristian  war." 

Ashley  started  and  fixed  his  bloodshot  eyes  on 
Smull,  who  immediately  raised  his  own  to  the  ceiling 
and  addressed  it  unctuously  :  "  This  here  unchris- 
tian war  to  disrupt  the  sacred  union  of  the  States  is 
a  offence  against  God  and  man,  my  young  friend, 
and  I  now  am  brought  to  see,  by  God's  grace,  the 
sin  of  secession  an'  slavery,  an'  Jefferson  Davis  an' 
his  wicked  ways.  Surely  the  wicked  shall  perish 
and  be  cut  down  like  the  grass  ;  in  the  morning  it 
flourisheth  and  groweth  up,  in  the  evenin'  it  is  cut 
down  an'  withereth,  my  young  fren'." 

Ashley  had  grown  paler  and  paler  ;  his  fingers 
clutched  at  the  bedclothes,  and  he  watched  Smull's 
increasing  exaltation  with  a  horror  that  pinched 
every  feature  in  his  face. 

"  No  !  "  bawled  Smull  :  "no  !  no  !  I  have  took 
the  oath  of  allegiance  to  these  here  United  States  ! 
Blessed  is  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain 
mercy !  " 

"  Shut  up  !  "  gasped  Ashley,  "  do  you  want  to 
have  the  Yankee  provost  here  ?  " 

Smull  raised  his  hands  and  wept  on  ;  "  Behold  I 
am  utterly  enlightened  !  Blessed  are  the  meek  for 
they"— 

"  Stop  !  "  shrieked  Ashley,  starting  up  in  bed. 


smith's  battery.  69 

Smull  glanced  sharply  at  him,  then  sat  down  with 
a  sigh. 

"  Are  you  going  to  give  me  up  to  the  provost- 
marshal  because  you  took  the  oath  ? "  quavered 
Ashley,  beside  himself  with  fright  and  fury. 

"  No,"  said  Smull  wagging  his  double  chin  and 
meeting  Ashley's  glance  squarely  ;  "no,  I  will  not 
bring  the  centurions  for  fear  they  utterly  destroy 
thee  with  the  sword." 

Ashley,  sweating  with  terror,  looked  at  the  rev- 
erend gentleman  and  wondered  whether  he  could 
kill  him  without  undue  disturbance.  That  fat  neck 
could  not  be  strangled  with  Ashley's  slender  fingers  ; 
the  revolver  under  the  pillow  was  surer — and  surer 
still  to  bring  the  Yankee  soldiers  pell-mell  into  the 
house.  He  had  been  jealous  of  Smull  when  that 
gentleman  made  his  weekly  call  on  Mrs.  Ashley. 
He,  besotted  as  he  was,  noticed  the  expression  of 
Smull's  small  eyes  when  Mrs.  Ashley  entered  the 
room,  her  innocent  heart  filled  with  plans  for  char- 
ities suggested  by  the  minister.  Would  the  Rev- 
erend Laomi  like  to  see  Mrs.  Ashley  a  real  widow  ? 
Would  he  even  aid  fate  toward  the  accomplishment 
of  her  widowhood? 

"  What  the  hell  made  you  holler  like  that !  "  stam- 
mered Ashley  fiercely.  "  Damn  you,"  he  added? 
"<  if  the  Yankees  had  come  into  this  room,  you 
would  have  left  it  feet  first  an'  fit  for  a  hole  in  the 
ground  ?  " 

The  Reverend  Laomi  Smull  looked  sadly  at  the 
young  man.     There  were  tears  on  his  fat  cheeks. 


yO  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Yes,  I  tote  a  gun,"  sneered  Ashley,  tapping  the 
pillow  under  his  head.  "  Don't  be  a  fool.  Hang 
out  your  shirt  and  let  Moseby  come  and  clean  out 
these  Yankees,  for  God's  sake,  before  they  shoot  me 
and  hang  you  on  my  evidence." 

"  Moseby's  men  can't  face  cannon,"  observed 
Smull  with  sudden  alacrity. 

"  Then  lock  the  cannoniers  in  the  church  when 
Moseby  signals.  You  can  do  it  ;  you've  got  the 
keys,  haven't  you  ?  " 

Smull  nodded. 

"  They'll  come  at  night,  of  course  ;  you  can  go 
and  whine  hymns  in  the  church  by  special  permit, 
and  lock  the  door  when  the   first  carbine  goes  off." 

"And  the  bell  on  Sunday?"  inquired  Smull: 
"  the  clapper's  gone,  the  ropes  are  cut,  and  the 
Yankee  Battery  Captain  wouldn't  let  me  ring  it  no- 
how." 

"  Never  mind  the  bell.  If  Moseby  sees  the  shirt 
he'll  attack  by  night,  unless  he's  in  force.  If  the 
whole  Confederate  cavalry  has  ridden  around  Wilson, 
then  he'll  come  by  day  and  send  the  Yankees  pack- 
ing, battery  or  no  battery.  All  you've  got  to  do  is 
to  hang  out  that  shirt.  Now  go  away,  d'you 
hear?" 

Smull  rose  and  walked  softly  to  the  door. 

"And,"  added  Ashley,  "  if  you  play  tricks  on  me 
you'll  hang  on  my  evidence." 

Smull  opened  the  door. 

"  And  you'll  not  get  my  wife  anyway,  damn  you  !  " 
finished  Ashley  triumphantly  from  the  bed. 


smith's  battery.  71 

Smull  turned  and  looked  at  him,  then  went  out, 
quietly  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  met  Mrs.  Ashley,  and 
he  smirked  and  opened  his  thick  moist  lips  to  speak, 
but  the  young  wife's  face  startled  him  and  he  closed 
his  mouth  with  a  snap  of  surprise. 

"  You  intend  to  betray  my  husband,"  she  said 
breathlessly. 

"  You  have  been  listening  at  your  husband's  door," 
he  retorted  savagely. 

She  clenched  her  small  hands:  "What  of  it! 
With  cowards  and  traitors  and  hypocrites  as  guests, 
honest  people  need  be  forewarned  !  Shame  on  you  ! 
Shame  on  your  cloth  !  Shame  on  your  oath  of  alle- 
giance !  You'll  sell  my  husband  to  steal  his  wife  ! 
You'll  break  your  oath  to  bring  the  rebel  cavalry 
down  on  us  !  " 

She  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eyes  with  both 
trembling  hands. 

"  God  knows,"  she  said,  "  I  thought  I  was  right  to 
hide  my  husband,  and  I  think  so  now.  Yet,  if  he 
or  you  betray  these  soldiers  I  shall  denounce  you 
both  to  the  first  picket !  " 

"  Madame,"  began  Smull  in  thick  persuasive  tones, 
"you  wrong  me — " 

"  Leave  this  house  !  "  she  said,  trembling. 

The  Reverend  Laomi  bowed  low,  raised  his  eyes 
to  the  sky,  sighed,  and  stepped  out  into  the  garden. 
There,  before  he  could  rearrange  his  expressive 
features,  Smith  met  him  face  to  face  and  returned 
the  clergyman's  disconcerted  salute  gravely. 


72  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  One  moment,  my  dear  young  friend,"  stammered 
Smull. 

Smith  wheeled  squarely  in  his  tracks  and  stood 
rigid.  Smull  hesitated,  passed  a  fat  tongue  over  his 
lips,  and  weighed  the  chances.  The  next  moment 
he  made  up  his  mind,  glanced  at  the  door,  saw  Mrs. 
Ashley  entering  the  house,  then  leaned  swiftly  to- 
ward Smith  and  whispered. 

Smith  drew  himself  up  sharply ;  the  Reverend 
Laomi  Smull  turned  and  left  the  garden,  head  bowed 
on  his  breast  as  though  in  anguish  of  spirit.  A  few 
minutes  later  he  brought  a  wash  basket  out  of  his 
house  and  pinned  a  single  shirt  to  the  line  with  a 
wooden  clothespin.  Then  he  ran  to  the  woods,  as 
fast  as  he  could,  and  squatted  under  a  rock  where  a 
tangle  of  brambles  fell  like  a  curtain  to  screen  him 
from  the  eyes  of  the  impious,  indiscreet,  and  impor- 
tunate. 


IV. 


Smith,  holding  his  sabre  very  stiffly,  raised  the 
bronze  knocker  on  Mrs.  Ashley's  door  and  rapped 
three  times.  Then  he  loosened  the  chin-strap  of  his 
forage-cap ;  drew  off  both  gauntlets,  folded  them, 
and  placed  them  in  his  belt. 

As  he  waited  for  admittance  he  saw  the  flag  over 
the  porch,  motionless  in  the  still  air ;  he  heard  the 
wild  bees'  harmony  overhead,  he  heard  the  rustle  of 
a  summer  gown  behind  the  door.  But  the  door  did 
not  open.     He  waited.     A  burr  stuck  to  the  crim- 


smith's  battery.  73 

son  stripe  on  his  riding  breeches ;  he  flicked  it  off 
with  his  middle  finger.  Presently  he  knocked  again, 
once;  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Ashley  came  out, 
smiling  faintly. 

"  I  hope  you  want  another  cup  of  tea,"  she  said 
with  the  slightest  gesture  toward  the  table  under 
the  magnolias  where  the  two  chairs  still  stood  as 
they  had  left  them  in  the  morning. 

He  attended  her,  cap  in  hand,  to  the  table  ;  when 
she  was  seated,  he  stood  beside  her. 

"  Is  it  tea,  Captain  Smith  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up 
at  him. 

He  grew  suddenly  red,  but  did  not  reply. 

"What  is  it  then?"  she  repeated,  smiling:  "not 
the  mere  honour  of  my  poor  presence  I  am  sure. 
But,  as  a  gallant  officer,  you  must  contradict  me, 
Captain  Smith." 

Fear  whitened  her  lips  that  the  smile  had  not 
left ;  she  faced  him  with  the  coquetry  of  desper- 
ation ;  and  the  pathos  of  it  turned  him  sick  at 
heart. 

"  I  brought  the  Bible  to  you,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  the 
one  you  swore  on — the  oath  of  allegiance.  You 
kissed  it." 

She  inclined  her  throbbing  head  and  took  it. 

"  Open  it,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed.  The  wet  bit  of  folded  paper  caught 
her  eyes  and  she  held  it  out  to  Smith,  saying  :  "  This 
is  yours." 

"  No  !  "  he  said,  "  it  is  yours." 

She  glanced  swiftly  up  at  him,  caught  her  breath  ; 


74  THE   HAUNTS  OF   MEN. 

and  sat  motionless,  the  paper  clutched  nervously  in 
her  ringers. 

"  Read  it,"  he  said  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

She  opened  it ;  one  glance  was  enough.  Then 
she  dropped  it  on  the  grass  at  her  feet.  Presently 
he  stooped  and  recovered  it. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  obeying  his  eyes'  command,  "my 
husband  is  not  dead.     What  of  it?" 

"Where  is  he?" 

She  was  silent. 

"  A  deserter." 

"  Yes." 

"  A  traitor." 

"Yes." 

Smith  walked  to  the  gate,  looked  down  the  road 
toward  the  church  where  the  artillery  pickets  pa- 
raded, naked  sabres  drawn.     Then  he  came  back. 

"  You  are  under  arrest,"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
ground. 

She  turned  a  bloodless  face  to  his,  and  raised  one 
slender  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  loyalty?"  she  stammered. 

He  turned  his  back  sharply. 

"  My  loyalty  ?  "  she  repeated  as  though  dazed. 

He  was  silent. 

"  But — but  you  administered  the  oath — you  saw 
me  kiss  the  Book,"  she  persisted  with  childlike  insist- 
ence. 

"  And  your  husband  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  abruptly. 

"  What  of  him  !  "  she  cried,  revolted  ;  "  I  am  my- 
self! — I  have  a  brain  and  a  body  and  a  soul  of  my 


SMITH  S   BATTERY.  75 

own  !  Do  you  think  I  would  damn  my  soul  with  a 
kiss  on  that  Book  !  Do  you  think  if  I  were  a  Rebel 
I  would  deny  it  to  save  my  body  ?  " 

"You  have  denied  it,"  he  said.  He  took  the 
Bible  from  her  hand  and  opened  it  at  a  marked 
page: 

"  By  their  acts  ye  shall  know  them,"  he  read 
steadily,  then  closed  the  Book  and  laid  it  on  the 
table.  Their  eyes  met  ;  the  anguish  in  his  bore  a 
message  to  her  that  pleaded  for  forgiveness  for  what 
he  was  about  to  do. 

"  Not  that ! — "  she  stammered,  half  rising  from 
the  chair. 

He  turned,  drew  out  a  handkerchief,  and  signalled 
the  artillery  picket,  flag-fashion.  Then,  before  he 
could  prevent  it,  she  was  on  her  knees  to  him,  there 
on  the  grass,  her  white  face  lifted,  speechless  with 
horror. 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  do  that,"  he  said,  trying  to 
raise  her,  but  she  clung  to  him  and  pushed  him  to- 
ward the  gate  murmuring,  "  Go  !  Go  !  " 

Furious  at  the  agony  he  was  causing  her,  tortured 
by  the  agony  it  cost  him,  he  held  her  firmly  and 
told  her  to  be  silent. 

"  Your  husband  is  hidden  in  that  house,"  he  said  : 
"he  is  attempting  to  add  to  his  treason  by  com- 
municating with  the  Rebel  cavalry.  He  tried  to 
force  your  own  pastor,  at  the  point  of  a  pistol,  to 
hang  a  red  shirt  on  his  clothesline,  which  means 
'  attack ! '  The  pastor  is  a  good  man ;  he  had 
taken   the    oath  ;  such  villainy  horrified  him.     To 


y6  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

save  his  life  in  the  room  above  he  consented  to  hang 
out  a  signal,  but  the  signal  he  hung  out  is  a  white 
shirt  which  means  '  retreat.'     There  it  is ! 

He  pointed  angrily  at  the  white  shirt  hanging  on 
the  minister's  clothes-line  down  the  road. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  let  me  do  my  duty." 

He  took  her  by  the  wrists,  and  looked  straight  into 
her  eyes,  adding : 

"  I'd  rather  be  lying  dead  at  your  feet  than  doing 
what  I've  got  to  do." 

"  But,"  she  cried,  struggling  to  free  herself,  "  but 
the  signal !  Can't  you  understand  ?  The  man 
lied !  He  lied  !  He  lied  !  The  white  rag  means 
'  attack  ! '  " 

Stupefied,  he  dropped  her  wrists  and  stepped 
back. 

"  Run  to  your  battery  !  "  she  wailed,  "  run  !  run  ! 
Can't  you  understand  !  They're  coming  !  They'll 
kill  you  ! " 

Scarcely  had  she  spoken  when  a  rifle-shot  rang 
out  from  the  race-track,  another,  another,  then  a 
scattered  volley. 

An  artillery  guard  approached  the  garden,  halted, 
turned,  then  scattered  pell  mell  toward  the  church. 
The  next  moment  Smith  was  running  for  his  battery 
and  shouting  to  Steele,  who,  mounted,  cantered 
among  the  grave-stones,  and  hurried  the  panic- 
stricken  cannoniers  to  their  stations. 

A  frightful  tumult  arose  from  the  race-track,  where 
the  "  Dead  Rabbits,"  taken  utterly  unprepared  by 
a  cloud  of  Confederate  cavalry,  ran  like  rabbits  very 


SMITH  S   BATTERY.  TJ 

much  alive.  Through  them  galloped  the  Confeder- 
ate riders,  heavy  sabres  dripping  to  the  hilt.  The 
Union  cavalry  at  the  water-tank  was  overwhelmed  ; 
the  gray-jacketed  troopers,  shouting  their  "  Hi !  yi ! 
yi !  yi !  "  wheeled  into  the  village,  shaking  a  thou- 
sand glittering  sabres ;  but  here  they  met  a  blast  of 
cannister  from  the  churchyard  that  sent  them  reel- 
ing and  tumbling  back  to  the  race-track,  now  swarm- 
ing with  the  entire  Confederate  division. 

Smith's  battery,  limbered  up,  filed  out  of  the 
churchyard,  while  Smith,  looking  annihilation  in 
the  face,  saw  the  last  of  the  "  Dead-Rabbits  "  leg- 
ging it  for  the  woods.  He  turned  with  a  groan 
to  Steele,  and  Steele  said,  "  Ride  for  it,  if  we're 
to  save  the  guns !  The  whole  rebel  cavalry  is 
here !  " 

Bullets  began  to  sing  into  the  bewildered  column  ; 
the  cannoniers  struggled  with  the  horses  and  swore. 
Suddenly  a  shell  fell  squarely  on  the  church  tower 
and  burst. 

"  They've  got  artillery  ;  we're  goners  !  "  shouted 
a  teamster. 

Smith  drew  his  sabre  and  raised  it  high  above  his 
head  :  "  Battery  forward  !  "  he  cried  :  "  by  the  left 
flank  !     Gallop  !  " 

"  God  help  us,"  gasped  Steele. 

Team  after  team  dashed  into  position,  dropped 
their  guns,  and  wheeled  into  station  behind.  Smith 
dismounted  and,  standing  by  gun  No.  I,  began  to 
make  calculations,  pad  and  pencil  in  hand.  Pres- 
ently   he    gave  his    orders ;    a   shrapnel    shell    was 


78  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

rammed  home,  the  screw  twisted  to  the  elevation, 
then : 

"Fire!" 

A  lance  of  flame  pierced  the  white  cloud,  the 
shell  soared  away  toward  the  race-track  and  burst 
beyond  it. 

Before  gun  No.  2  could  be  fired,  a  roar  broke 
from  the  wooded  heights  close  to  the  left,  and 
a  flight  of  shells  struck  Smith's  battery  amid- 
ships. For  a  moment  it  was  horrible  ;  teams  were 
butchered,  guns  dismounted,  cannoniers  torn  to 
shreds. 

"  Steele,  bring  that  limber  up!  "  shouted  Smith; 
"  they  shan't  have  every  gun  !  " 

Steele  seized  the  bridle ;  the  terrified  animals 
lashed  out  right  and  left,  threatening  to  kick  the 
traces  to  bits.  A  cannonier  tried  to  hook  up  the 
gun  but  fell  dead  under  the  limber.  A  caisson  blew 
up,  hurling  a  dozen  men  into  the  air  and  stunning 
as  many  more.  With  blackened  face  and  jacket, 
Steele  reeled  toward  the  gun  again  but  fell  on  his 
face  in  the  long  grass. 

"  Bring  off  that  gun!"  shouted  Smith,  standing 
straight  up  in  his  stirrups.  Crack  !  went  the  wheel, 
and  the  gun  sank  to  its  axle.  Then  Smith  sprang 
from  his  horse  and  helped  the  gunners  take  the 
spare  wheel  from  the  caisson,  roll  it  up  over  the 
grass,  and  mount  it  on  the  broken  pieces.  Smith 
hammered  it  on  the  axle,  then  drove  home  the 
linchpin,  brushed  the  sweat  from  his  half-blinded 
eyes,  and  looked  around. 


smith's  battery.  79 

What  he  saw  was  the  wreck  of  three  guns  and 
caissons,  the  blackened  fragments  of  gunners  and 
horses,  and  a  mess  of  trampled  grass  ;  and  beyond, 
between  his  single  gun  and  the  race-track,  a  long 
gray  line,  glittering  with  naked  steel,  sweeping 
straight  upon  him. 

Of  his  battery  there  remained  three  men  with 
him ;  the  others  were  lying  dead  around  Steele  or 
stunned  and  mangled  somewhere  in  the  rank  grass. 

Scarcely  conscious  of  what  he  did,  he  helped  his 
three  gunners  hook  the  gun  to  the  limber,  then 
mounted  and  followed  the  gun  back  into  the  village 
through  a  constantly  increasing  rain  of  bullets.  One 
of  his  men  fell  to  the  earth. 

"  I  guess  the  whole  Rebel  army's  here,"  he  said, 
as  though  speaking  to  himself :  "  I  guess  I'd  better 
get  this  gun  to  the  Junction  damn  quick." 

In  front  of  Mrs.  Ashley's  cottage,  as  the  cannon 
passed,  Ashley,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  fired  from  the 
window  point-blank  at  a  cannonier  and  shot  him 
out  of  his  saddle.  The  dead  man's  clutch  on  the 
team's  bridle  brought  the  gun  to  a  halt,  and  the  re- 
maining gunner  sprang  from  his  saddle  with  an  oath 
and  dashed  into  the  house,  sabre  unsheathed. 

"  Come  back  !  "  shouted  Smith,  reining  in  ;  "  man  ! 
man  !  we've  got  to  save  the  gun  !  Come  back  !  " 
He  climbed  from  his  own  saddle  into  the  saddle  of 
the  nigh  battery  horse  and  seized  the  heavy  raw- 
hide.    A  bullet  broke  his  wrist  as  he  lifted  it. 

There  was  a  struggle  going  on  in  the  room  from 
which  Ashley  had  fired,  but  Smith  did  not  see  it; 


SO  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

his  head  swam  and  he  looked  at  his  gun  with  sick 
eyes.  For  a  second  all  round  grew  black,  then  he 
found  himself  rising  from  his  horse's  neck,  and,  in 
the  road  beside  him,  he  saw  Mrs.  Ashley  and  'Biah, 
holding  the  bridles  he  had  dropped. 

"  They've  hit  me,  I  can't  guide  the  team,"  he  said 
vacantly.     "  I've  got  to  save  the  gun,  you  know." 

His  eyes  fell  on  the  dead  body  of  her  husband, 
lying  where  it  had  been  flung  from  the  window 
among  the  flowers  below. 

"  He's  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Ashley  ;  "  I  can't  stay. 
Don't  leave  me  !  I  can  sit  a  horse  if  you  will  let  me. 
I'll  go  with  you.     Don't  refuse  me  !  " 

She  sprang  into  the  limber  seat  and  clutched  the 
railing  with  both  hands  ;  'Biah  followed  with  a  howl 
of  terror.  There  was  a  whip  there  ;  she  swung  the 
heavy  rawhide  and,  seizing  a  horse  by  the  mane, 
drew  herself  forward  to  the  saddle,  calling  ;  "  here 
they  come  !     Gallop  !  gallop  !  " 

With  a  plunge  the  six  horses  leaped  forward,  and 
tore  down  the  road,  Smith  swaying  in  his  saddle 
with  a  broken  arm,  the  young  girl,  enveloped  in  a  tor- 
rent of  dust,  riding  the  nigh  horse  of  the  wheel-team, 
limber  and  gun  swaying  and  crashing  on  behind, 
'Biah  bouncing,  jouncing,  and  howling  intermittently. 

"  Guide  !  "  called  Smith  faintly  :  "  I  can't." 

She  seized  the  bridles  and  lashed  the  horses. 
'Biah  shrieked. 

"  There  are  soldiers  ahead  !  "  she  cried  to  him, — 
"  Rebel  infantry  !     They're  going  to  fire  !  " 

"  Drive  over  them  !  "  he  gasped. 


SMITH  S   BATTERY.  8l 

With  a  rumble,  a  roar,  and  a  tearing  crash,  the 
train  broke  into  the  shouting  mass  of  men,  the  scurry- 
ing wheels  crunched  on  something,  there  came  a 
flash  of  rifles,  and  Smith  staggered.  Before  his  eyes 
all  was  a  blurr ;  he  still  heard  the  hoofs  clink,  the 
chains  clash,  the  wheels  thump  and  pound.  Gun 
and  limber  struck  an  opposing  body  and  leaped  into 
the  air  ;  Smith's  glazing  eyes  opened  ;  he  clung  to 
his  mount  and  attempted  to  turn. 

He  tried  to  say  :  "  Is  the  wheel  broken  ?  " 

She  could  not  reply,  nor  did  she  dare  turn  her 
head  to  that  heap  in  the  road  already  far  behind. 
Terror  sealed  her  lips — had  sealed  her  lips  when, 
through  the  dust  ahead,  she  saw  Smull,  almost  under 
the  head  team's  hoofs,  start  to  run,  then  go  down  to 
death  beneath  her  very  eyes. 

****** 

Six  wild  horses,  a  runaway  limber  and  gun,  two 
half-dead  creatures  hanging  to  the  saddles,  and  a  fran- 
tic darkey  on  the  limber, — that  was  all  of  Smith's 
battery  that  tore  into  the  Junction  to  the  horror  of 
Wilson  and  the  scandal  of  the  rank  and  file. 

It  all  happened  years  ago  ;  too  long  ago  to  fix  the 
year  or  the  date.  Perhaps  the  incident  is  recorded 
in  the  archives  of  the  Nation.  Perhaps  not.  At 
all  events  when  they  had  picked  some  stray  bullets 
out  of  Smith  and  set  his  wrist  in  splints,  he  went 
North  on  furlough. 

I  think  Mrs.   Ashley  went  with  him  ;  and  'Biah 
being  of  no  account,  toted  their  luggage  and  breathed 
hard. 
6 


AMBASSADOR  EXTRAORDINARY. 


Alas  !  he's  gone  before, 
Gone  to  return  no  more, 

Whose  well-spent  life  did  last 
Full  ninety  year  and  past, 

Crowned  with  Eternal  bliss 
We  wish  our  souls  with  his. 

Ancient  Epitaph 


AMBASSADOR  EXTRAORDINARY. 

Sing  again  the  song  you  sung 
When  we  were  together  young — 
When  there  were  but  you  and  I 
Underneath  the  summer  sky. 

George  William  Curtis. 

I. 

It  was  the  season  when  our  beloved  motherland 
undergoes  a  quadrennial  Caesarian  operation  and 
presents  a  new  president  to  a  pardonably  hysterical 
people. 

Installed  in  the  several  departments  of  the  na- 
tional incubator,  newly  hatched  cabinet  officers,  des- 
titute of  the  Roman  Augur's  sense  of  humour,  met 
around  the  "  Oracle,"  and  parted,  without  the 
shadow  of  a  smile  ;  brand-new  heads  of  departments 
gazed  solemnly  at  each  other,  government  clerks 
cast  owlish  eyes  on  brand-new  chiefs,  gloomily  alert 
for  new  cues. 

The  Ambassador  to  England  was  named,  and  sent 
forth  ;  at  parting  the  President  intimated  to  him 
that  he  was  a  statesman  ;  they  shook  hands  and 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes ;  neither  relaxed  a 
muscle.  The  Ambassador  to  Germany  departed  ; 
the  Ambassador  to  Russia  followed.  Other  states- 
men-patriots   expatriated  themselves   with    serious 

85 


86  AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY. 

alacrity  ;  a  Minister  descended  on  Brazil,  another 
on  Spain,  another  on  Belgium ;  no  guilty  land 
escaped. 

When  His  Excellency  the  United  States  Am- 
bassador to  France  presented  his  credentials  to  the 
President  of  the  French  Republic,  the  guard  at  the 
Elysee  presented  arms,  a  nurse-maid  wheeling  a 
baby-carriage  stopped  to  look,  and  there  was  a  par- 
agraph in  the  Figaro  several  days  later. 

In  the  Latin  Quarter  the  American  students  dis- 
cussed the  new  Ambassador. 

Selby  said  to  Severn  :  "  There's  a  new  Ambassa- 
dor, you  know  ;   I  hear  he's  red-headed." 

Severn  said  to  Rowden  :  "  There's  a  new  Am- 
bassador, you  know.  I  understand  his  family  have 
red  hair." 

Rowden  observed  to  Lambert :  "  I  am  told  that 
the  new  Ambassador's  daughter  has  red  hair." 

That  morning  the  pale  April  sunshine,  slanting 
through  the  glass-roofed  studio  in  the  rue  Notre 
Dame,  awoke  Richard  Osborne  Elliott  from  refresh- 
ing slumbers.  That  young  man,  in  turn,  aroused 
Foxhall  Clifford  from  a  lethargy  incident  on  a  nuit 
blanche  and  a  green  table. 

"  Black  can't  turn  up  every  time ;  red  is  bound 
to  assist  the  lowly,"  muttered  Clifford  on  his  pillow. 

At  that  moment  Elliott,  reading  the  Figaro,  en- 
countered the  paragraph  concerning  the  new  Am- 
bassador. 

"  Red  is  going  to  assist  us,"  he  remarked  ;  "  they 
say  he  has  red  hair." 

"Who?"  yawned  Clifford. 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  8? 

An  hour  later  Elliott,  swathed  in  a  blue  crash 
bath-robe,  sat  in  the  studio  sipping  his  morning 
coffee  and  perusing  the  feuilleton  in  the  Figaro. 

His  comrade  entered  a  moment  later  carrying  a 
pair  of  shoes,  and  sat  down  on  the  floor. 

"  New  Ambassador,"  repeated  Clifford,  lacing  his 
patent  leathers  ;  "  what  do  I  care  for  Ambassadors  !  " 

"They're  good  to  know,"  observed  Elliott,  "  they 
give  receptions." 

"Yes,"  sneered  Clifford,  "fourth  of  July  recep- 
tions, where  everybody  waves  little  flags  at  every 
body  else.     I've  seen  trained  birds  do  that." 

"Ambassadors,"  insisted  Elliott,  "can  get  you 
out  of  scrapes.  If  you're  broke  they  can  send  you 
home.     You're  not  much  of  a  patriot  anyway." 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  snapped  Clifford,  "  I'm  loyal  to  the 
spinal  marrow,  but  I  draw  the  line  at  our  diplomats." 

He  laced  the  other  shoe,  tied  it,  straightened  up 
and  rose,  kicking  out  gently  first  with  one  leg  then 
with  the  other  until  his  trousers  fell  over  each  instep 
with  satisfying  symmetry. 

"  Patriot  ?  "  he  went  on,  "  I  am  too  patriotic  to 
countenance  the  status  quo  at  our  consulate,  where 
the  United  States  Consul  sits  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
and  practises  at  a  cuspidor,  and  where  you  can't  get 
a  consular  certificate  without  being  bullied  by  an 
insolent  roustabout !  So  your  new  Ambassador," 
he  continued  reflectively,  "  can  go  to  the  devil !  " 

"  Now  you're  too  hasty,"  said  Elliott  ;  "  Ambas- 
sadors are  not  consuls."  He  added  dreamily,  "  His 
Excellency  has  a  daughter — I  understand." 


88  AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY. 

Clifford,  loitering  before  the  mirror,  unconsciously 
gave  a  smarter  twist  to  his  tie,  and  buttoned  the 
snowy  waistcoat  in  silence.  When  he  was  ready, 
gloved,  hatted,  and  faultlessly  groomed,  he  selected 
a  blossom  from  a  pot  of  fragrant  pinks  on  the 
window  and  drew  it  through  the  lapel  of  his  morn- 
ing coat. 

"  Going  to  see  Jacquette  ?  "  asked  Elliott,  pouring 
out  more  coffee. 

"  No,"  replied  Clifford.  He  hummed  a  bar  of  a 
wedding  march,  strolled  to  the  great  glass  window, 
mused  a  moment,  sighed,  whistled  softly,  and  sighed 
again.  There  was  a  cock-sparrow  out  in  the  garden, 
hopping  around,  chirping  and  trailing  his  dusty 
wings  through  the  gravel.  A  lady  sparrow  pecked 
him  at  intervals.  The  innocent  courtship  of  the 
little  things  stirred  Clifford  with  amorous  wistful- 
ness.  He  flattened  his  nose  against  the  window 
glass  and  watched  them,  gently  humming : 

"  The  fox  and  the  bear, 
The  squirrel  and  the  hare, 

The  dickey-bird  up  in  the  tree, 
The  roly-poly  rabbits, 
So  amazing  in  their  habits, 

They  all  have  a  mate  but  me, 
But  me  ! 
They  all — 
They  a — a — a — 11 — 

Oh,  they  all  have  a  mate  but  me  !  " 

Elliott  listened  scornfully. 

"  Why,"  said  Clifford,  twisting  suddenly  around, 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  89 

"  should  I  go  to  school  and  paint  Italian  models — 
on  a  day  like  this?  " 

"You  haven't  been  to  the  atelier  in  a  week,"  said 
Elliott  morosely.  "  Oh,  I  know  what  you're  going 
to  say !      " 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  retorted  Clifford. 

"  You  are  !  You're  going  to  tell  me  that  you've 
seen  the  most  wonderful  girl  in  the  Luxembourg, 
who  must  be  some  foreign  countess!  Don't  I 
know !  Haven't  I  heard  it  a  thousand  times  ? 
And  hasn't  the  countess  always  turned  up  with  you 
at  some  cheap  restaurant?" 

Clifford  sat  down  on  a  camp-stool  and  pointed  his 
cane  toward  the  floor.  Squinting  along  it  at  a  spot 
of  sunlight  on  the  velvety  Eastern  rug,  he  listened 
in  silence  to  Elliott's  reproaches. 

"  Have  you  finished  ?  "  he  asked. 

Elliott  girded  up  his  bath-robe  and  moved  off. 

"  Because,"  continued  Clifford,  "  I  have  a  propo- 
sition to  make." 

"  Make  it  then,"  said  Elliott,  scowling. 

"  Well,  sit  down." 

Elliott  squatted  Turk  fashion  on  a  divan,  saying 
bitterly,  "  Last  week  you  moaned  and  protested 
that  you  had  been  wasting  your  time.  Now  go  on 
with  your  proposition, — but  I'll  not  be  a  party  to 
any  new  infatuation,  let  me  tell  you — " 

Clifford  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  studio, 
gloved  hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  head  thought- 
fully bent  as  far  as  his  collar  permitted.  As  he 
walked  he  twiddled  his  cane. 


90  AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY. 

"  Well?"  inquired  Elliott  sarcastically. 

Clifford  came  up  to  him  and  stood  a  moment  in 
silence.  Then  he  said  :  "  Elliott,  suppose  we  get 
married  to  twins?" 

"  Married ! "  bawled  Elliott  in  angry  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Irretrievably,"  continued  Clifford  gently,  "  sup- 
pose we  go  into  the  thing  thoroughly.  Suppose  we 
become  respectable  !  " 

"  I  am,"  broke  out  Elliott,  but  the  other  held  up 
five  expostulating  gloved  fingers. 

"  In  a  way — yes,  in  a  way.  But  do  you  know 
what  I  think?  I  think  no  man  is  absolutely  and 
hopelessly  respectable  unless  he  has  a  wife! — 
Elliott,  a  wife — a  little  wifey — " 

"  Rubbish  !  "  replied  Elliott,  rising  from  the  divan. 
"And  let  me  inform  you  I  don't  want  a  wife.  I'm 
well  enough  as  I  am — if  anybody  should  ask  you. 
Let  go  of  my  bath-robe;  I'm  going  to  paint." 

"  Think,"  urged  Clifford, — "  think  of  being  really 
and  legally  married — think  of  the  joyful  anguish — 
no  more  suppers,  no  more  Bullier,  no  more  tzing ! 
la!  la!—" 

He  removed  his  silk  hat,  skipped  playfully,  and 
pretended  to  kick  it. 

"  But,"  he  continued,  with  sudden  soberness,  "  a 
wife — a  little  wifey^  -is  recompense  for  all  pleas- 
ure— " 

"  Antidote,  you  mean — " 

"  No,  I  don't !  Joy  is  born  from  the  nuptial 
blessing;.      I  desire  to  wed — " 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  91 

"  Who  ?     What  ?  " 

"A  lovely,  spirituelle,  delicate  vision — unworldly 
and — er — passably  provided  for — " 

"  By  you  ?" 

"  Partly  by  me — partly  by  an  adoring  father, — a 
fine  silvery-haired  old  patrician,  borne  down  by  the 
weighty  cares  of  his  millions — do  you  know  any  of 
that  kind,  Elliott  ?  " 

"  I  know  some  silvery-haired  patricians." 

"  Tottering  under  the  weight  of  millions  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  With  daughters?" 

"  Never  asked  'em." 

"  What  about  the  new  Ambassador  ?  You  said 
his  daughter — " 

Elliott  laughed  : 

"  Oh,  he's  tottering  under  millions,  but  his  hair  is 
red  and  I  think  that  hers — " 

"  You  annoy  me,"  said  Clifford,  and  left  the  studio. 
He  paused  in  the  garden,  sniffed  at  the  lilacs,  eyes 
raised  in  contemplation  of  the  firmament. 

"  Nevertheless,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  red  hair  or 
silver  hair — I'm  not  bigoted  on  the  silver  question. 
And,"  he  added  with  sprightly  humour,  "  it's  16  to  I 
I  call  on  his  Excellency  before  the  week  is  out." 

II. 

His  Excellency  the  United  States  Ambassador 
was  a  sheep-faced  old  gentleman  who  became  hope- 
lessly mixed  up  in  some  railroads  and  escaped  with 


92 


THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 


impaired  health  and  most  of  the  stock.  Wheat  hit 
him  hard  a  year  later,  and  oil  nearly  ended  him,  but 
he  became  entangled  in  trolley  wires  and  put  them 
underground  to  save  future  annoyance  to  his  legs. 
This  naturally  set  him  on  his  feet  again ;  and  he 
went  to  Washington  where  there  is  honour  among — 
financiers,  and  where  they  practise  statesmanship  as 
she  is  taught.  When  his  wife  died  and  his  daughter 
Amyce  began  to  go  to  school,  his  future  Excellency 
bobbed  up  and  down  in  Congress  with  the  caprice 
and  abruptness  of  a  bottled  imp.  The  see-saw  con- 
tinued year  after  year  ;  sometimes  he  had  a  bill 
passed,  sometimes  he  blocked  a  bill  ;  now  and  then 
he  got  other  people's  money,  now  and  then  other 
people  got  his  money;  but  it  evened  up  in  the  end 
like  dominoes — if  you  play  long  enough. 

Then  came  the  new  administration,  the  stampede 
for  office.  Before  his  future  Excellency  made  up  his 
own  mind,  fate  shoved  him  into  the  front  rank,  and 
he  asked  for  the  French  mission  and  the  odds  were 
against  him.  The  President  weighed  him — the 
scales  of  the  mint  are  exquisitely  adjusted — and, 
separating  the  dross  from  the  pure  metal,  the  mind 
from  the  material,  the  President  found  him  avail- 
able for  the  diplomatic  mission  and  told  him  he 
might  have  it.     So  he  took  it  and  went. 

His  Excellency's  income  permitted  him  to  keep 
up  his  establishment  in" the  rue  de  Sfax.  Two  neat 
attaches,  military  and  naval,  played  croquet  with 
him  ;  his  first  secretary  read  Ollendorf  to  him,  his 
daughter  played  hostess  on  national  holidays,  and 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  93 

Massenet  every  morning  from  ten  to  twelve.  From 
three  to  four  she  swung  in  a  hammock  in  the  garden, 
and  read  Henry  James. 

It  was  at  that  hour  and  under  those  circumstances 
that  Clifford  first  met  Amyce.  He  was  permitting 
his  Excellency  to  beat  him  at  croquet  on  the  lawn  ; 
he  loathed  the  game  with  a  loathing  untranslatable. 
He  sat  on  the  butt-end  of  his  mallet,  watching  his 
Excellency  pattering  about  from  stake  to  stake, 
adjusting  the  balls  with  a  chuckle,  stooping  to  peer 
through  wickets,  calculating  angles  and  split-shots. 

His  Excellency's  heavy,  sheep-like  face  with  its 
silvery  tuft  of  side-whiskers  was  ruddy  and  minutely 
shaved.  Always  scrupulously  dressed,  he  had  the 
air  of  having  been  neatly  attired  by  a  doll's  cos- 
turner,  then  varnished.  There  was  something  about 
the  old  gentleman  that  recalled  the  irresponsible 
inertia  of  a  manikin, — something,  when  he  moved 
that  resembled  the  automatic  trot  of  a  marionnette. 
He  left  an  impression  of  not  being  responsible  for 
either  his  clothes  or  his  movements,  but  mutely  re- 
ferred you  to  his  maker  for  guarantees  that  both 
were  O.  K.  His  hair  was  the  glossy  white  that  red 
hair  frequently  changes  to  ;  his  eyes  were  pale  hazel, 
lambent  and  vitreous  as  the  eyes  of  a  middle-aged 
sheep.  His  upper  lip,  also,  seemed  as  though  it 
were  intended  for  cropping  short  grass. 

He  had  taken  to  Clifford  at  once ;  he  introduced 
him  to  the  naval  attache"  and  to  the  military  attache^ 
to  the  first,  second,  and  third  secretaries  of  the  Em- 
bassy.    He  did  this  partly  because  Clifford  came 


94  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

armed  with  three  good  letters  of  introduction, 
partly  because  the  United  Service  began  to  fight 
shy  of  the  croquet-ground,  and  a  substitute  was 
necessary. 

He  did  not,  however,  present  him  to  his  daughter; 
in  fact  Clifford  had  never  even  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her,  although  on  two  occasions  he  had  been  bidden 
to  dine  at  the  Embassy.  Stanley  of  the  cavalry,  the 
military  attache,  had  been  pumped  by  Clifford  with- 
out result.  All  he  learned  was  that  the  young  lady 
sometimes  dined  by  herself. 

However,  that  afternoon  in  early  May,  as  Clifford 
sat  glum  and  impatient  on  his  mallet,  and  the  Am- 
bassador trotted  about  mauling  the  lawn,  a  young 
lady  suddenly  appeared  under  the  trees  by  the  ham- 
mock, glanced  nonchalantly  at  his  Excellency,  lan- 
guidly surveyed  Clifford,  and  then,  placing  a  ham- 
mock-pillow where  it  would  do  the  most  good,  sat 
down  in  the  hammock.  It  was  gracefully  done  ;  she 
appeared  to  dissolve  among  a  cloud  of  delicate 
draperies  ;  her  head  indented  the  feather  cushion  ; 
one  small  patent-leather  toe  glistened  in  the  sun- 
light. 

"  She  is  red-haired,"  was  Clifford's  first  thought ; 
the  next  was  :  "  She  is  a  beauty, — oh,  my  conscience  !  " 

She  was.  Her  eyes  were  those  great  tender  grey 
eyes  that  must  have  been  forgotten  when  Saint 
Anthony  was  tortured ;  her  skin  was  snow  and 
roses.  But  her  hair,  her  splendid,  glistening  hair, 
heavy  and  red  gold  ! — dazzling  as  sunlight  on  floss- 
silk  ! 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  95 

"  It's  your  shot,"  said  his  Excellency  for  the 
third  time. 

The  Ambassador  won  the  game  ;  he  proposed 
another  and  Clifford  assented  with  a  sickly  smile. 
Inwardly  he  swore  that  he  would  be  presented, 
willy-nilly,  even  though  he  had  to  drag  his  Excel- 
lency to  the  hammock. 

"  Confound  him,"  he  thought ;  "  have  rumours  of 
my  reputation  in  the  Quarter  penetrated  my 
country's  Embassy?" 

They  had  not  ;  yet,  it  was  exactly  because  Clifford 
was  an  artist  and  inhabited  the  Latin  Quarter  that 
the  Ambassador  avoided  taking  him  to  the  bosom 
of  his  family.  Vague  and  dreadful  stories  had  been 
afloat  in  the  Embassy  concerning  the  Quarter. 
His  Excellency  had  read  Trilby  too.  This  may 
have  weighed  with  him  ;  he  had  that  distrust  of  art 
and  artists  prevalent  among  Anglo-Saxons.  He  also 
had  the  Anglo-Saxon  desire  to  explore  the  Quarter 
for  him  self,  one  day, — if  all  was  true  as  rumour  had 
it.  Therefore  Clifford  was  doubly  welcome,  for  his 
croquet,  and  for  what  the  future  promised  when  his 
Excellency  needed  a  companion  to  the  veiled  mys- 
teries of  the  Rive  Gauche.  So,  on  the  whole,  Clif- 
ford was  a  good  man  to  amuse  him,  but  not  at  all 
the  kind  of  man  to  amuse  Amyce. 

But  Fate,  busy,  as  usual,  with  other  people's 
business,  began  to  meddle  with  the  hammock  cords 
where  Amyce  swung  serenely  reading  Henry 
James. 

Amyce  rose  just  in  time  ;  there  came  a  rapid  un> 


96 


THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 


ravelling  of  cords,  and  the  collapsed  hammock  fell 
with  a  flop. 

Flushed  at  the  nearness  of  undignified  disaster, 
Amyce  shook  out  her  fluffy  skirts,  Henry  James 
tightly  clasped  in  one  hand,  and  looked  appealingly 
at  his  Excellency. 

The  Ambassador  started  to  rehang  the  hammock  ; 
Clifford  said  :  "  Permit  me — " 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  the  Ambassador, — but  that 
was  where  he  collided  with  Fate. 

Amyce  smiled  and  looked  relieved  ;  Clifford  re- 
hung  the  hammock ;  Amyce  thanked  him.  Then 
there  was  a  pause  during  which  both  looked  ex- 
pectantly at  his  Excellency. 

The  Ambassador  sullenly  did  his  duty  and  took 
Clifford  back  to  the  lawn  and  beat  him  five  games 
of  croquet.  But  even  this  triumph  was  wet-blank- 
eted, for  Amyce,  holding  Henry  James  to  her  chin, 
came  out  to  the  lawn  to  "  watch  papa  "  and  encour- 
age "  papa,"  and  condole  with  Clifford  for  his  bad 
fortune.  Only  he  knew  how  good  that  fortune  had 
been — and,  perhaps,  she  suspected  it. 

Amyce  suggested  tea  on  the  lawn  ;  his  Excellency 
began  to  object,  but  Fate  was  there  and  took  another 
fall  out  of  his  Excellency,  for  Amyce  had  already 
ordered  it,  and  a  servant  appeared  with  tables  and 
trays  on  the  porch. 

The  Ambassador  cropped  thin  slices  of  bread-and- 
butter;  Amyce  poured  tea;  Clifford,  in  a  daze  of 
love,  saw  everything  through  pink  haze.  From  this 
dream  he  was  abruptly  roused   by  the   advent   of 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  97 

Captain  Stanley  of  the  cavalry.  He  saw  Amyce 
feed  the  brute  with  tea  ;  he  heard  her  laugh  softly 
when  the  Captain  told  some  imbecile  story  or  imi- 
tated Count  Fantozzi.  He  measured  the  Captain, 
he  accorded  him  six  feet  two,  a  pair  of  superb  legs, 
and  a  cavalry  moustache. 

"  Granted  him  cards  and  spades,"  thought  Clifford, 
"I'll  beat  him  yet.     I  know  I  can." 

He  was  an  honest  youth  with  no  more  vanity 
than  you  or  I. 


III. 


In  the  Quarter,  Clifford's  attitude  became  unbear- 
able. Rumours  were  afloat  that  he  had  outgrown 
the  Quarter  and  its  simple  lurid  pleasures  ;  that  he 
had  put  away  childish  things ;  that  he  consorted  ex- 
clusively with  the  ostentatious  great.  When  garden 
parties  were  given  at  the  English  Embassy,  Clifford's 
name  figured  among  the  guests, — and  the  Quarter 
read  it  in  the  Figaro  and  chafed. 

Elliott,  incredulous  at  first,  observed  the  absence 
of  Clifford  from  all  Quarter  rites  with  astonishment 
and  grief.  The  studio  grew  lonelier  and  lonelier. 
Elliott  drank  cocktails  and  brooded. 

"See  here,"  he  blurted  out,  one  day,  "how  long 
are  you  going  to  keep  this  up  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  replied  Clifford,  placing  violets  in  his 
buttonhole. 

"  This  confounded  pose  of  yours — this  tolerating 
the  Quarter — this  Embassy  nonsense  !  " 


98  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  I  prefer  it  to  Bullier,"  said  Clifford — "  or,"  he 
added  maliciously,  "  to  the  «  Bal  a  l'H6tel-de-Ville.'  " 
Then  he  put  on  his  gloves,  humming: 

"  Des  chapeaux  melon  et  des  chapeaux  rond!  " 
Dame !  c'est  pas  d'la  petite  biere ! — eu  1 
Tous  ces  gueux  la 
lis  ont  pige  9a 
'A  la  Belle  Jardiniere  ! — eu  I  " 

Elliott  arose  in  fury. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  go  and  eat  thin  bread-and- 
butter  and  talk  to  fat  princesses  ! — go  and  learn 
baccarat  from  that  yellow  mummy  Fantozzi ! — 
go  and  play  imbecile  croquet  games  with  his  Ex- 
cellency and  marry  his  daughter  and  live  in  the  Pare 
Monceaux.  But  you'll  regret  it  !  oh  yes,  you'll  be 
sorry.  And  you'll  think  of  the  Luxembourg  and 
of  Jacquette  and  the  old  studio,  and  you'll  hear  a 
nursery  full  of  babies  squawling  and  you'll  see  Fan- 
tozzi leering  at  your  wife  and — " 

Clifford  looked  around  with  gently  raised  eye- 
brows. 

"  I  won't  be  back  to  dinner,"  he  said  amiably. 

"  Where  are  you  going — dressed  like  that !  "  burst 
out  Elliott  with  new  violence. 

"  Going  to  shoot  pigeons  in  the  Bois." 

They  stood  for  a  while  in  silence.  Presently 
Elliott  arose,  went  over  to  his  manikin,  and  began 
to  dress  it ;  the  manikin  at  present  was  doing  duty 
as  a  French  fireman  for  Elliott's  great  picture, 
"  Saved  !  " 

He  mechanically  placed  the  brass  pot-helmet  on 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  99 

the  manikin's  papier-mache  head,  twisted  the  neck 
viciously,  straightened  out  a  sawdust  stuffed  arm, 
placed  a  rope  in  the  hand,  and  closed  the  jointed 
fingers.  Then  he  hauled  out  his  easel,  opened  his 
colour  box,  and  clattered  the  brushes. 

Clifford  watched  him. 

Elliott  set  his  palette  rainbow  fashion,  touched 
the  canvas  with  the  tip  of  his  third  finger,  rolled  a 
badger  brush  in  rose-doree,  and  began  to  glaze. 

"  Don't  glaze  yet,"  said  Clifford. 

"Why?  "  snapped  Elliott  without  turning. 

"  Because  you  make  the  flames  too  pink." 

"What  do  you  know  about  flames  or  pictures 
or  glazing?  "  said  Elliott  bitterly.  "Go  and  shoot 
pigeons  and  get  married." 

Clifford  went  out  haughtily  ;  yet  there  was  an  un- 
accustomed pang  in  his  breast.  He  suddenly  realised 
how  utterly  out  of  it  he  was  ;  he  began  to  com- 
prehend that  he  was  afloat  on  the  Rubicon  in  a  very 
leaky  boat.  There  was  nothing  to  warrant  his  hopes 
of  Amyce  except  a  superb  self-confidence.  He  saw 
he  was  alienating  the  Quarter ; — he  noticed  it  now, 
as  he  walked,  when  Selby  passed  with  a  constrained 
smile,  when  Lambert  bowed  to  him  with  unaccus- 
tomed rigidity,  when,  as  he  crossed  the  Luxembourg, 
Jacquette,  passing  with  Marianne  Dupoix,  averted 
her  pretty  eyes. 

He  knew  that  an  announcement  of  his  engage- 
ment would  be  followed  by  excommunication  from 
the  Quarter.  He  had  intended,  in  the  event  of  be- 
trothal, to  confine  his  Quarter  visits  to  Elliott  and 


100  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Selby  and  Rovvden,  but  the  prospect  of  involun- 
tary exclusion  had  small  attraction  for  him.  He 
thought  of  Jacquette  ;  the  odour  of  violets  from  a 
street  flower-stand  recalled  her. 

He  was  in  a  bad  humour  when  he  reached  the  Tir 
aux  Pigeons.  Before  he  entered  he  saw  Captain 
Stanley  laughing  on  the  lawn  with  Amyce.  That, 
and  the  apparition  of  Fantozzi,  completed  his  irri- 
tation and  his  score  at  the  traps  was  ridiculous. 

"You  play  croquet  better,"  observed  his  Excel- 
lency, at  his  elbow. 

That  was  the  last  straw,  and  Clifford  forced  a 
smile  and  went  across  the  lawn. 

"  What  was  your  score  ?  "  asked  Amyce,  looking 
up  at  him  from  the  shade  of  her  white  parasol. 

He  was  compelled  to  confess  it. 

Fantozzi,  interrupted  in  the  recountal  of  recent 
personal  experience  with  an  electric  tram-car,  raised 
his  eyebrows  superciliously. 

"  Pooh,"  said  Captain  Stanley,  "  everybody  gets 
out  of  form  at  times." 

Clifford  looked  gratefully  at  his  generous  rival  ; 
Amyce  also  raised  her  eyes  to  the  well-knit  military 
figure.  Generosity  is  sometimes  its  own  reward — 
sometimes  it  even  receives  perquisites. 

Fantozzi  continued  his  dramatic  recital  of  the  dis- 
courteous tram-car. 

"  I  would  come  in  a  tram  electrique— Mademoi- 
selle— behold  me  on  the  corner  street  ! — the  tram 
approach  ! — I  nod  my  head  ! — he  do  not  hear 
me — " 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  IOI 

"  Couldn't  hear  you  nod  your  head  ?  "  inquired 
Stanley  sympathetically. 

"  Wonder  his  brains  didn't  rattle,"  muttered  Clif- 
ford to  himself. 

"  I  nod  !  I  nod  !  "  repeated  Fantozzi  with  mer- 
curial passion  ;  "  I  permit  myself  to  make  observa- 
tion to  stop  !  Cease  !  arrest  ze  tram  !  He  regard 
me  insolent !  the  tram  vanishes  itself !  I  am  left 
on  the  corner  street !     The  miserable  laugh  !  " 

"  Are  you  sure  you  called  to  the  motor-man  to 
stop?  "  asked  Stanley  gravely. 

"  Parbleu !  I  did  say  stop !  I  said  it !  I  did 
hear  myself  say  it !  " 

"Mr.  Clifford,"  said  Amyce,  "who  is  shooting?" 
She  raised  her  lorgnettes :  "  Oh,  Count  Routier ! 
Do  you  know  I  am  not  pleased  to  see  little  birds 
shot.  Captain  Stanley,  it  is  your  turn  next.  Have 
you  no  pity  for  those  poor  pigeons?" 

"  Monsieur  Clifford  had,"  said  Count  Fantozzi. 

Amyce  frowned  a  little ;  Fantozzi,  prepared  to 
laugh  at  his  own  wit,  winced  at  the  silence. 

"Well,"  said  Stanley,  "I  must  go  and  perform. 
Shall  I  miss  every  bird — is  it  your  pleasure?"  he 
added,  looking  at  Amyce. 

Amyce  smiled,  her  face  was  an  enigma. 

"  Do  as  you  please,  I  wish  you  good  fortune  in 
any  event,"  she  said. 

Fantozzi  pretended  to  shudder  for  the  pigeon 
victims;  Stanley  walked  thoughtfully  across  the 
lawn ;  Clifford,  on  fire  with  mixed  emotions  of 
jealousy  and  love,  pretended  to  be  absorbed  in  the 


102  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

shooting.  He  glanced  indifferently  at  the  gaily- 
dressed  groups  on  the  green,  recognised  some  people 
and  bowed,  returned  the  salutes  of  other  people 
who  recognised  him,  and  finally  sat  down  on  a  camp- 
stool  near  Amyce. 

Others  were  joining  the  group;  a  lieutenant  of 
hussars,  in  sky-blue  and  silver,  a  brilliant-eyed 
diplomatic  group  from  Brazil,  one  or  two  tall  Eng- 
lishmen, scrubbed  pink,  and  finally  his  Excellency 
the  United  States  Ambassador. 

Clifford  loathed  them  all ;  yet,  Amyce  was  very 
kind  to  him.  While  Captain  Stanley  stood  shoot- 
ing, she  scarcely  glanced  at  the  traps,  and  when  that 
sober-faced  young  cavalryman  sauntered  back  and 
confessed  he  had  killed  every  bird,  she  scarcely 
raised  her  eyebrows.     Was  it  displeasure  ? 

"  It  is  but  a  sport  brutal,"  whispered  Fantozzi 
close  behind  her. 

"  Like  your  bull-fights,"  said  Clifford,  seriously. 
He  and  Stanley  were  quits.  It  was  war  with  Fan- 
tozzi. 

The  Spanish  attache  with  the  Italian  name  glared 
blankly  at  Clifford  who  returned  his  glance  wick- 
edly. 

"  Croquet  is  better  sport,"  bleated  his  Excellency, 
accepting  a  glass  of  champagne  and  a  thin  slice  of 
bread-and-butter. 

Clifford's  turn  came  again  at  the  traps ;  he  missed 
right  and  left.  He  heard  Fantozzi  laugh.  When 
he  came  back  Amyce  had  gone  away  with  his 
Excellency  and  Captain  Stanley.     However,  Fan- 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  IO3 

tozzi  was  there  and  Clifford  succeeded  in  picking  a 
quarrel  with  him  and  followed  it  with  a  smile  and 
the  slightest  touch  on  the  Count's  shirt  front. 

Fantozzi  turned  a  delicate  green,  then  crimson. 
Then  he  went  away  to  the  club-house  and  called 
for  a  cab,  and  drove  to  his  Embassy  at  a  speed  that 
interested  pedestrians  along  the  Champs  Elysee. 

Clifford  withdrew  a  little  later  to  the  Cafe  Anglais 
where  he  sullenly  brooded  and  dined  too  freely. 
About  nine  o'clock,  he  went  to  see  Stanley  ;  at  half- 
past  ten  a  handsome  young  Spaniard  called  to  pay 
his  respects  and  bring  courteous  greetings  from 
Fantozzi. 

Clifford  left  the  Spaniard  and  Stanley  deeply  in- 
terested in  each  other's  society,  and  took  a  cab  to 
the  United  States  Embassy,  where,  as  an  artist,  he 
was  to  oversee  the  decorative  preparations  for  next 
evening's  garden-party.  His  Excellency  had  re- 
quested it ;  Amyce  appeared  pleasantly  cordial ;  so 
Clifford  went  to  direct  the  hanging  of  lanterns  and 
gaily-coloured  scarfs,  and,  incidentally  to  propose 
marriage  to  his  Excellency's  only  daughter. 

His  Excellency  was  smoking  a  cigar  on  the  lawn 
as  Clifford  entered,  mentally  thanking  all  the  saints 
that  it  was  too  late  to  play  croquet.  Servants 
moved  through  the  shrubbery  ;  a  few  lanterns  threw 
an  orange  light  among  the  chestnut  branches. 

His  Excellency  was  in  good  humour;  he  pattered 
about,  as  though  driven  by  improved  mechanism  ; 
he  chuckled  at  times  that  irritating  chuckle  incident 
to  victory  at  croquet. 


104  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"We'll  have  electric  lights  next  week,"  he  said; 
"ever  play  croquet  by  moonlight?  " 

"There  is  no  moon  to-night,"  said  Clifford,  trium- 
phantly. 

"  I  know  it,"  sighed  his  Excellency. 

Presently  the  Ambassador  exhibited  a  desire  to 
interfere  with  Clifford's  directions  to  the  servants ; 
he  insisted  on  mounting  a  ladder  and  fussing  with 
a  string  of  crimson  lanterns.  The  first,  second,  and 
third  Secretaries  of  the  Embassy  were  summoned  to 
steady  the  ladder  ;  Clifford  saw  an  opportunity  and 
seized  it. 

Amyce,  who  had  been  standing  on  the  porch,  ob- 
served Clifford's  advance  with  mixed  sentiments. 

"Are  all  the  lanterns  hung?"  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Clifford,  "his  Excellency  has  proposed 
modifications." 

"  Man  proposes — "  began  Amyce,  gaily,  then 
stopped. 

The  silence  was  startling. 

Presently  Amyce  picked  a  rose  from  the  vine  at 
her  elbow. 

"  Is  it  mine  ?  "  asked  Clifford. 

"Yours?     I— I  don't  know." 

She  held  it  a  moment,  then  he  took  it 

"And  the  giver?"  he  whispered. 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  said  Amyce. 

"  Then,"  said  Clifford,  "  I  shall  take  her— as  I 
took  the  rose  ;  "  and  he  moved  toward  her  up  the 
steps. 

At  that  moment  Fate,  who  had  been  listening  as 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  105 

usual,  somewhere  among  the  shadows,  took  a  hand 
in  the  proceedings ;  there  was  a  crunch  of  footsteps 
on  the  gravel  walk,  the  dim  glimmer  of  a  cigar,  and 
Captain  Stanley  entered  the  house,  bowing  pleasantly 
to  Amyce  and  casting  a  look  at  Clifford  that  meant, 
"  Follow  me." 

Before  Clifford  could  move,  Amyce  passed  him 
with  a  pale  smile  and  crossed  the  lawn  toward  the 
lantern-hangers. 

His  emotions  were  indescribable  ;  he  damned 
Stanley,  then,  buoyed  with  the  intoxicating  thought 
that  Amyce  had  not  refused  him,  he  went  into  the 
house  and  found  Stanley  waiting  in  the  smoking- 
room. 

"  Well,"  said  Clifford  ungraciously. 

Stanley  appeared  a  trifle  surprised  but  said  :  "  I'm 
sorry  you  are  in  this  mess,  old  fellow.  Fantozzi 
naturally  wants  a  shot  at  you." 

An  unpleasant  sensation  passed  through  Clifford  ; 
Fantozzi  and  his  shot  were  repulsive  at  the  mo- 
ment. 

"When?"  asked  Clifford. 

"To-morrow  at  sunrise.     I've  notified  Bull." 

Clifford  grew  angry :  "  Then  he  can  have  his 
shot,"  he  said  savagely,  and  sat  down  for  a  conference, 
interrupted  about  eleven  o'clock  by  his  Excellency. 

The  Ambassador  was  in  no  mood  for  bed.  Per- 
haps something  in  the  lighted  lanterns  had  roused 
the  long  smouldering  spark  of  revelry,  dormant  in 
every  masculine  bosom.  Being  an  Anglo-Saxon  he 
knew  of  no  lighter  gaiety  than  heavy  drinking.     He 


106  THE   HAUNTS   OF  MEN. 

began  to  tell  stories — quite  pointless  tales — and  he 
would  not  let  Clifford  go,  and  he  spoke  vaguely  of 
wonderful  brands  of  whisky  past  and  whisky  to 
come.  He  sat  there,  his  limpid  hazel  eyes  meeker 
than  any  lambkin's,  a  carefully  dressed  lay-figure, 
irresponsible  to  God  and  man,  and  for  whom  no- 
body was  responsible  except  his  Constructor. 

About  midnight  he  became  entirely  automatic  ;  his 
eyes  seemed  to  plead  for  somebody  to  wind  him  up 
and  set  him  going  again. 

"  When  he  gets  this  way  he  has  a  tendency  to 
wander,"  whispered  Stanley  ;  "  I  usually  lock  him  in 
his  room  ;  if  I  didn't  he'd  be  all  over  town — like  an 
escaped  toy." 

Clifford  went  out  on  the  porch  ;  Stanley  followed. 

"  At  sunrise,"  said  Clifford  soberly.  "  Will  you 
call  for  me  in  a  carriage?  " 

"  At  sunrise,"  replied  Stanley  offering  his  hand. 

Then  Clifford  went  away,  and  Stanley,  lingering 
to  watch  him  to  the  gate,  walked  slowly  back  to  the 
smoking-room. 

To  his  horror  his  Excellency  had  disappeared. 
The  west  porch  door  swung  wide  open. 

"  He'll  be  all  over  Paris!"  groaned  Stanley  smit- 
ing his  head  with  both  hands. 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  I07 


IV. 

Clifford  did  not  go  back  to  the  studio ;  he  took 
a  long  drive  in  a  cab  to  steady  his  nerves.  He 
alternately  thought  of  Amyce,  of  Fantozzi,  of  his 
Excellency's  incoherent  stories,  of  Elliott  and  the 
studio, — and,  perhaps,  of  Jacquette.  Two  hours  be- 
fore dawn  he  found  himself  standing  in  front  of 
Sylvain's ;  and,  wondering  why  he  had  wandered 
there,  he  went  in  and  upstairs.  The  long  glittering 
room  reeked  with  cigar  smoke ;  voices  rose  harshly 
from  the  disordered  tables ;  a  piano  tinkled  faintly 
on  the  floor  above.  He  looked  at  his  watch ;  it 
lacked  an  hour  of  the  appointed  time  when  he  was 
to  meet  Stanley  with  the  carriage  at  the  studio. 
He  turned  toward  the  portal  impatiently  ;  somebody 
entered  as  he  opened  the  leather  doors  ;  he  glanced 
up  and  met  his  Excellency  face  to  face. 

His  Excellency  began  a  mechanical  trot  into  the 
room  ;  Clifford  involuntarily  detained  him  and  the 
Ambassador  stopped  obediently  as  though  somebody 
had  arrested  his  running-gear.  He  examined  Clif- 
ford with  mild  vitreous  eyes  as  though  he  had  never 
before  seen  him.  He  was  perfectly  docile,  perfectly 
contented  to  be  started  again  in  any  new  direction. 
He  needed  a  few  repairs  ;  Clifford  saw  that  at  once. 
It  would  never  do  to    send  his  Excellency  home 


108  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

with  such  a  hat  and  collar  and  tie  ;  the  personnel  at 
the  Embassy  must  never  see  his  Excellency  in  such 
disorder. 

"  Come,"  said  Clifford  gently.  There  was  a  cab 
at  the  door  ;  he  stowed  his  Excellency  away  in  one 
corner  and  followed,  ordering  the  cabby  to  hasten 
to  the  studio  in  the  rue  Notre  Dame.  There  was 
not  much  time  to  lose  when  they  reached  the  studio. 
Clifford  attempted  to  adorn  his  Excellency  with 
clean  linen,  but  found  that  it  might  take  some  hours 
as  the  machinery  had  run  down  and  the  Ambassador 
evinced  an  unmistakable  inclination  to  slumber.  He 
seated  his  Excellency  in  an  arm-chair,  and  hur- 
riedly changed  his  own  evening  dress  for  morning 
clothes.  Then  he  went  up  to  Elliott's  bedroom,  but 
that  young  man's  bed  was  untenanted  and  undis- 
turbed. The  Ambassador  slept  peacefully  in  the 
studio;  after  a  moment's  thought  Clifford  scribbled 
a  note : 

"  Dear  Elliott  :— 

When  you  come  in  please  give  this  gentleman 
clean  linen  and  a  new  hat  and  brush  his  clothes  and 
send  him  to  the  United  States  Embassy  p.  d.  q. 

"  Yours, 

"  Clifford." 

As  he  finished  he  heard  carriage-wheels  in  the 
street  outside  and  he  thrust  the  note  into  his  Excel- 
lency's hat-band,  jammed  the  hat  on  the  slumbering 
diplomat's  head,  and  hurried  out  to  the  street  where 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  IO9 

Stanley  and  Bull  were  waiting  in  the  dim  grey  of 
the  coming  dawn. 

"  Not  had  coffee  !  "  exclaimed  Bull  ;  "  nonsense, 
it's  traditional  !  " 

"  We'll  take  it  at  St.  Cloud,"  said  Stanley.  "  Are 
you  ready,  old  fellow  ?  " 

The  carriage  door  slammed,  the  wheels  rattled 
faster  and  faster. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Clifford,  "  his  Excellency 
paid  me  a  visit  this  morning.  I'll  see  he  gets  home 
in  good  shape." 

"  Thank  heaven  !  "  cried  Stanley  ;  "  I've  been 
hunting  him  all  night !  " 

A  moment  later  he  looked  earnestly  at  Clifford  : 
"  Is  your  hand  steady  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Clifford  pleasantly. 

"You'd  better  shoot  closer  than  you  did  at  the 
pigeons,"  suggested  Bull. 

"  Why  ?     Is  Fantozzi  a  good  shot  ?  " 

"  Rotten,"  said  Stanley. 

"  He's  the  more  to  be  feared  then,"  observed 
Bull  cynically. 

"  Why,  you  know,"  confessed  Clifford  with  a 
frank  smile,  "  I  feel  certain  that  I'm  not  going  to  be 
hit.  I  was  nervous  last  night,  but  not  on  that  ac- 
count." 

And  he  smiled  confidently,  thinking  of  Amyce. 

"  But,"  insisted  Bull,  "  are  you  going  to  hit  your 
man  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.  What  bosh  it  all  is,  anyway,"  laughed 
Clifford. 


IIO  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 


V. 

It  was  not  yet  sunrise  when  Elliott,  entering  the 
studio  with  Selby,  lighted  the  gas  and  started  to 
prepare  for  bed.  As  Elliott  turned  up  the  gas 
Selby  encountered  the  owl-like  eyes  of  his  Excel- 
lency, blinking,  limpid,  vacant. 

"What's  that?"  he  said  nervously.  But  when 
he  saw  the  evening  dress,  the  disordered  tie,  the 
hat,  he  approached  the  Ambassador  curiously.  Pres- 
ently he  reached  up,  slipped  the  note  from  his  Ex- 
cellency's hat-band,  opened  it,  read  it  in  silence, 
then  passed  it  to  Elliott  without  a  word. 

"  May  I  ask  who  you  are?"  said  Elliott.  His 
Excellency  bleated  and  waited  for  somebody  to  set 
him  in  motion,  with  placid  confidence.  Elliott 
frowned.  This  then  was  one  of  those  who  had 
lured  Clifford  from  the  fold  ! — this  wicked  old  crea- 
ture, apparently  paralysed  by  depravity,  planted  in 
an  arm-chair!  His  ruffled  hat  accused  him!  His 
crumpled  tie,  coyly  peeping  from  behind  one  ear, 
convicted  him  ! 

"  Call  a  cab,"  said  Elliott  thickly. 

His  Excellency  betrayed  no  emotion ;  his  round 
eyes  followed  Elliott's  movements  with  trustful 
tranquillity.     When  Selby  returned,  saying  the  cab 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  Ill 

was  there,  Elliott  assisted  the  Ambassador  to  his 
feet ;  but,  what  was  his  surprise  and  indignation  to 
see  that  his  Excellency  was  entirely  capable  of 
movement.  For,  once  set  in  motion,  the  Ambassa- 
dor began  trotting  all  about  the  room  with  perfect 
solemnity  and,  apparently  with  keen  satisfaction. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Elliott  coldly,  "  your 
cab  is  waiting."  He  might  as  well  have  talked  to 
the  statues  in  the  Louvre.  Then  he  lost  his  self- 
control  and,  taking  his  Excellency  by  one  sleeve  he 
led  him  to  the  arm-chair  and  seated  him. 

"Aged  man,"  he  said,  "are  you  not  mortified? 
You  have  dragged  my  comrade  into  your  depraved 
society  !  You've  taken  him  away  from  the  Latin 
Quarter,  you've  stuffed  his  head  full  of  marriage 
nonsense,  of  ambition,  of  desire  for  wealth  and  posi- 
tion. How  dare  you  come  here  and  ask  for  a  hat 
and  a  collar  !  " 

"Do  you  intend  to  ruin  Clifford  at  baccarat?" 
demanded  Selby. 

"Or  marry  him  to  anybody?"  added  Elliott 
hoarsely. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  cried  Selby  ;  "  are  you  a  cor- 
rupt diplomat  ?  Or  are  you  merely  a  wicked  old 
man  on  a  spree  ?  " 

"  He  can't  wear  that  hat ;  it  won't  stay  on,"  ob- 
served Elliott.  Selby  took  a  woman's  bonnet  from 
the  manikin,  placed  it  on  his  Excellency's  head  and 
tied  the  strings  under  his  chin.  Elliott  threw  Clif- 
ford's covert-coat  over  his  Excellency's  shoulders. 

"  That  bonnet  will  keep  him  from  catching  cold," 


112  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

he  said,"  it  may  teach  him  a  lesson,  too,  when  his  wife 
sees  it." 

His  Excellency  unmoved,  serene,  surveyed  Elliott 
from  under  his  bonnet. 

"  Come,"  said  Selby,  and  they  set  the  Ambas- 
sador in  motion  again,  out  the  door,  along  the  gar- 
den to  the  street  where  the  cab  stood.  The  cabby 
stared  a  little,  but  Elliott  said  grimly  :  "  Take 
him  to  the  United  States  Embassy  with  Mr.  Clif- 
ford's compliments.  And  leave  word  that  he  can 
keep  the  bonnet  for  future  use." 


About  that  time,  several  miles  away  in  the  forest 
of  St.  Cloud,  Clifford  was  taking  careful  aim  at  Fan- 
tozzi's  anatomy,  and  Fantozzi  was  returning  the  at- 
tention. A  moment  later  two  insignificant  reports 
broke  the  silence  ;  both  men,  very  pale,  stood  mo- 
tionless ;  two  tiny  shreds  of  smoke  floated  upward 
through  the  tender  foliage  above. 

Captain  Stanley  turned  to  Fantozzi's  second,  they 
conferred  for  a  moment,  then  Stanley  turned  away 
to  avoid  a  smile  and  went  hastily  up  to  Clifford. 

"  He  says  he  doesn't  want  another  shot ;  he  says 
honour  is  satisfied ;  look  out,  I  believe  he's  prepar- 
ing to  embrace  you  !  " 

In  vain  Clifford  attempted  to  shun  the  fervid  recon- 
ciliation, in  vain  he  dodged  Fantozzi's  tears  and 
hugs.  Fantozzi  would  not  leave  him,  not  he!  Clif- 
ford dexterously  escaped  a  kiss  aimed  at  his  cheek. 

There  were  compliments  from  seconds,  from  the 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  II3 

surgeon,  from  the  principals.  Undismayed,  Stanley 
tackled  the  process-verbal.  Bull  locked  up  his  instru- 
ments, the  carriages  were  summoned  by  handker- 
chief signal ;  the  duel  was  at  an  end.  Gaily  they 
drove  back  to  breakfast — a  red-hot  Spanish  break- 
fast at  Fantozzi's  apartments.  They  toasted  each 
other,  they  toasted  the  two  nations,  Spain  and  the 
United  States. 

Stanley,  obliged  to  report  at  his  Embassy,  excused 
himself  and  promised  to  return.  The  breakfast  con- 
tinued ;  Fantozzi  played  exquisite  Spanish  airs  on 
the  guitar  between  courses  ;  his  handsome  attach^ 
accompanied  him  on  the  piano. 

Bull,  tactless  to  the  back-bone,  sang  "  Cuba 
Libre,"  but  nobody  cared  and  everybody  laughed. 
Afternoon  came  ;  they  still  breakfasted.  Fantozzi 
insisted  on  a  bout  with  the  foils ;  Clifford  accepted  ; 
they  broke  a  handsome  vase  and  some  saucers. 

About  four  o'clock,  while  Bull  was  singing 
"  Cuba  Libre  "  for  the  eleventh  time  by  special  re- 
quest, Stanley  entered,  glanced  gravely  around,  and 
motioned  Clifford  to  come  outside.  Clifford  went, 
closing  the  door  behind  him,  troubled  by  the  stony 
solemnity  of  Stanley's  visage. 

"  What's  up  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  This,"  said  Stanley  with  inscrutable  eyes.  "  His 
Excellency  was  sent  home  in  a  cab  this  morning, 
wearing  a  woman's  bonnet  and  your  covert-coat !  " 

"  What !  "  gasped  Clifford. 

"  Also  with  your  compliments  and  a  request  that 
his  Excellency  keep  the  bonnet  for  future  use." 


114  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Cold  sweat  broke  out  on  Clifford's  brow. 

"  It's  Elliott  !  "  he  moaned.  "  It's  Elliott's  work  ! 
Oh,  Heaven,  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doing !  " 

Stanley  was  silent. 

"  I'll  go  to  the  Embassy,"  cried  Clifford,  "  I'll  go 
now." 

"  Better  not,"  said  Stanley  kindly. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Does — does  she  know?  "  faltered  Clifford. 

"  Yes,"  said  Stanley. 

"  And — and  she — she  believed  I  did  it !  " 

"  No — I  told  her  you  were  incapable  of  such  a 
thing.  But  she  is  perhaps  a  little  prejudiced — that 
is — I  mean — you  understand,  I  found  her  much 
distressed." 

Clifford  raised  his  eyes,  searching  the  handsome 
young  face  before  him.  Something  in  that  face 
made  his  heart  turn  to  water. 

"  Stanley !  "  he  blurted  out,  "  it  isn't  you,  is  it, 
she  has  promised  to  marry — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Stanley  slowly. 

Clifford  went  and  leaned  over  the  banisters. 
After  a  long  time  he  straightened  up,  mopped  his 
brow  with  his  handkerchief,  smiled,  and  came  up  to 
Stanley  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  Before  I  take  it  I  want  to  say  that  this  incident 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  Stanley  ;  "  I  pro- 
posed and  was  accepted  at  the  pigeon  match." 

Clifford  was  staggered  for  a  moment  ;  then  he 
recovered  and  held  out  his  hand  again. 

"  She   is  one   in   a   million,"    he   said  cordially, 


AMBASSADOR   EXTRAORDINARY.  115 

thinking  to  himself,  "  and  the  rest  of  the  millions 
are  just  like  her,  oh,  Lord  !  just  like  her  !  " 

Stanley  grasped  his  hand  ;  they  stood  looking  at 
each  other  with  kindly  eyes.  Fantozzi's  voice  came 
through  the  closed  door  : 

"  Espagne I     Espagne I 
Bravo  1     Toro  I  " 

Somewhere  in  there  Bull  still  chanted  "  Cuba 
Libre  !  "  Presently  they  bowed  to  each  other,  shook 
hands  again,  and  parted. 

"  My  compliments  to  His  Excellency  and  to  Miss 
Amyce,"  said  Clifford.  Then  he  went  in  and  took 
leave  of  Fantozzi  and  the  others  despite  their 
united  protests.  An  hour  later  he  entered  the  studio, 
fell  upon  Elliott  and  beat  him  madly.  They  fought 
like  schoolboys  until  tired  ;  perspiring  and  breath- 
less, they  retreated  to  separate  sofas  and  panted. 

"  Confound  you  !  "  gasped  Elliott,  "what  do  you 
mean  by  it  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  I  forgive  you,"  said  Clifford  grimly  ; 
"  go  to  the  devil ! " 

They  smiled  at  each  other  across  the  studio. 

"  Was  that  the  Ambassador,  then  ?  "  asked  El- 
liott. 

"  It  was, — Ambassador  Extraordinary  and  Min- 
ister Plenipotentiary." 

"  He  isn't  red-headed,"  suggested  Elliott,  "  your 
Ambassador  Extraordinary." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Clifford  "  he  is  a  most  ex- 
traordinary Ambassador.     Where  shall  we  dine  ?  " 


Il6  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  In  the  Quarter?" 

"  In  the  Quarter." 

"  With  me?" 

"  With  you." 

"  And  Colette  and  Jacquette  ?  " 

"  And  Colette  and  Jacquette." 

Elliott,  choking  with  emotion,  nodded,  and  picked 
up  a  ruffled  silk  hat  from  the  floor. 

"  His  Excellency's,"  said  Clifford  softly,  and  hung 
it  over  an  easel. 


YO  ESPERO 


YO  ESPERO. 

God   be  merciful   to  me,  a  sinner.     Thou   hast   already   been 
merciful  to  the  virtuous  by  making  them  so.   — Arabian  Prayer. 

I. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  the  young  fellow,  lifting 
his  cap. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  the  girl. 

It  was  the  third  time  they  had  met ;  they  had 
never  before  spoken.  The  young  fellow  buttoned 
his  tweed  jacket  to  the  throat,  glanced  over  the 
wooden  railing  of  the  foot-bridge,  and  then  looked 
up  at  the  sky.  The  sky  was  pale  blue,  fleckless  and 
untroubled  save  for  a  shred  of  filmy  vapour  floating 
all  alone  in  the  zenith  ; — that  was  all,  except  the 
gilt  incandescent  disc  of  the  sun ; — all,  except  a 
speck,  high  in  the  scintillating  vault,  that  circled 
slowly,  slowly  southwards,  and  vanished  in  mid-air. 

The  speck  was  a  buzzard. 

The  young  fellow  turned  from  the  glimmering 
water  and  looked  diffidently  at  the  girl.  She  bent 
her  grey  eyes  upon  the  stream. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  whether  there  are 
trout  in  this  river?"  he  asked,  moving  a  step  to- 
ward her. 

She  raised  her  head  instantly,  smiling. 
119 


120  THE   HAUNTS   OF    MEN. 

"  Gay  Brook  was  a  famous  trout  stream — once," 
she  answered. 

"  Then  I  suppose  there  are  a  few  still  left  in  it," 
he  asked,  also  smiling. 

"  But,"  continued  the  girl,  "  that  was  very,  very 
long  ago."  She  was  looking  again  at  the  water, 
pensively. 

"  How  long  ago  ?  "  he  persisted,  drawing  a  little 
nearer. 

M  About  seventy-five  years  ago,"  she  replied  with- 
out raising  her  head  ;  "  Buck  Gordon  says  so.  Do 
you  know  Buck  Gordon  ?  His  boys  are  the  tele- 
graph agents  at  the  station  above.  I  don't  know 
the  Gordon  boys  ;  I  have  spoken  twice  with  old  man 
Gordon.  I  do  not  suppose,"  she  continued  re- 
flectively, "  that  there  has  been  a  trout  in  Gay 
Brook  for  fifty  years.     Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  but  I  should  be  glad  to  know." 

He  had  drawn  a  little  nearer  and  now  leaned  on 
the  wooden  railing  of  the  bridge,  his  back  to  the 
water,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  A  leather  rod-case 
was  slung  over  one  shoulder.  The  southern  sun 
crisped  the  edges  of  his  short  hair  and  shorter 
moustache. 

"  The  reason,"  said  the  girl,  gazing  dreamily  into 
the  stream  again, — "  the  reason  is  because  they  cut 
off  so  much  timber  in  the  mountain  notch  yonder 
that  now  the  freshets  come  every  spring,  and  for 
weeks  the  water  is  nothing  but  yellow  mud. 
Trout  can't  live  in  mud, — can  they?" 

After  a  silence  he  said  :  "  And  so  there  are  no  more 


YO   ESPERO.  121 

trout."  She  shook  her  head.  The  sun  burnished 
her  dark  hair  and  tinged  the  delicate  contour  of 
cheek  and  throat  with  a  warmer  flush.  Her  white 
cambric  sunbonnet  swung  from  her  waist  by  both 
strings.  Presently  she  put  it  on  and  turned  toward 
him,  holding  the  tips  of  the  strings  between  the 
forefinger  and  thumb  of  her  left  hand.  Her  right 
hand  lay  indolently  along  the  grey  railing  of  the 
bridge.     It  was  dimpled  and  tanned  to  a  creamy  tint. 

"  I  have  seen  you  three  times  here  at  the  bridge," 
she  observed. 

"  And  I  have  seen  you,"  he  said  ;  "  I  wish  I  had 
spoken  before." 

She  tore  a  tiny  splinter  from  the  sun-bleached 
railing  and  dropped  it  into  the  water.  It  danced 
away  through  the  trembling  sunbeams. 

"  I  wondered  why  you  came  to  fish  in  Gay  Brook," 
she  went  on ;  "  I  might  have  told  you  that  there  are 
nothing  but  minnows  here  ; — I  nearly  did  tell  you — " 

"  I  wish  I  had  asked  the  first  time  we — I  saw 
you,"  he  said  ;  "  it  would  have  saved  me  no  end  of 
disappointment.     Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  " 

"Because — you  didn't  ask  me.  I  might  have  told 
you  anyway  if  I  had  not  seen  that  you  were  from 
the  North." 

"  You  dislike  Northern  people  ?  " 

"I?     Oh,  no, — I  don't  know  any." 

"  But  you  say  that  if — " 

"  I  mean  that  I  do  not  understand  Northern 
strangers." 

The  young  fellow  looked  at  her  curiously. 


122  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  also  were  from  the  North," 
he  said;  "you  do  not  speak  with  a  Southern  ac- 
cent— " 

"  I  am  from  Maryland,  but  I  have  lived  here  in 
North  Carolina  nearly  all  of  my  life.  The  reason 
that  I  do  not  speak  with  a  Southern  accent  is  be- 
cause my  uncle  is  from  the  North  and  I  have  lived 
alone  with  him, — ever  since  I  can  remember." 

"Here?" 

"Yes.  I  am  very  glad  you  spoke  to  me.  When 
do  you  go  away  to  the  North  again?" 

The  young  fellow  touched  his  short  moustache 
and  gave  her  a  sharp  glance.  His  sunburned  cheeks 
were  tinged  with  a  faint  colour. 

"  I  am  very  glad  too,"  he  said  ;  "  I  find  it  a  bit 
lonely  at  the  hotel." 

"  The  hotel,"  she  repeated ;  "  there  are  two  hun- 
dred people  there." 

"  And  I  am  lonely,"  he  said  again. 

"  You  can't  be, — how  can  you  be  ?  "  she  persisted, 
raising  her  grey  eyes  to  his. 

"  Because,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  haven't  anything  in 
common  with  any  of  them, — except  Tom  O'Hara." 

"I  don't  understand,"  she  insisted.  "  It  seems  to 
me  that  if  I  had  the  happiness  of  being  with  a  great 
many  people  I  should  have  all  in  the  world  that  I 
long  for.     I  have  nobody, — except  my  uncle." 

"  You  have  your  friends,"  he  said. 

"  No,  nobody  except  my  uncle.  I  do  not  count 
Zeke,  and  the  boys." 

"Zeke?" 


YO   ESPERO.  123 

"  Zeke  Chace." 

"  Oh,"  he  said  ;  "  I've  heard  of  him.  He  runs 
the  blockade,  doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  Does  he?"  she  asked  demurely. 

He  laughed  and  rested  his  head  on  his  wrist,  look- 
ing into  her  face.  Her  face  was  half  hidden  in  the 
shadow  of  her  sunbonnet,  so  she  met  his  gaze 
placidly. 

"Doesn't  Zeke  Chace  run  the  blockade?"  he  re- 
peated. 

"What  blockade?"  she  asked.  Her  grey  eyes 
were  very  round  and  innocent. 

"  Have  you  never  heard  of  blockade  whisky  ?  "  he 
insisted. 

She  had  to  laugh. 

"  I  might  have  heard  something  about  it,"  she 
admitted. 

His  pleasant  serious  face  questioned  hers  and  her 
lips  parted  in  the  merriest  laugh  again. 

"  How  silly  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  everybody  has  heard 
of  blockade  whisky." 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  have  often  asked,  but  the  peo- 
ple around  here  won't  talk  about  it !  " 

"  Perhaps  they  take  you  for  a  Revenue  Officer," 
she  ventured  gravely. 

"  Very  probably,"  he  answered. 

At  this  she  laughed  outright.  It  occurred  to 
him  that  she  was  making  fun  of  him  and  he  glanced 
at  her  again  sharply. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  am  not  a  Revenue 
Officer?"  he  asked. 


124  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Her  laughing  eyes  met  his. 

"  Can  you  tell  a  coon  from  a  possum  ?  "  she  asked 
in  return. 

"  I  ?     Of  course." 

"  So  can  I,"  she  said,  trying  hard  to  look  serious. 
After  a  moment  they  both  laughed  outright. 

"You  have  teased  me  unmercifully,"  he  said; 
"  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  tell  me  where  I  can 
catch  a  trout  or  two  ?  " 

"Then  I  will,"  she  answered  impulsively,  moving 
a  step  nearer;  "butZeke  won't  like  it.  There  are 
trout  in  the  Buzzard  Run." 

"  The  Buzzard  Run  ?  " 

"  It's  yonder,  behind  Mist  Mountain.  Zeke  won't 
like  it,"  she  repeated. 

"  Why  ?     Does  Zeke  fish  too  ?  " 

"Zeke?  Hm !  Not  exactly.  Never  mind, — I 
shall  tell  Zeke  about  you  and  nobody  will  bother 
you.  But  you  must  be  a  little  careful ;  there  are 
snakes  on  Mist  Mountain." 

•'  Not  dangerous  snakes, — are  there  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  kind  you  are  used  to,"  she 
said  ;  "  there  are  rattlers  in  the  rocks  on  Mist  Moun- 
tain." 

After  a  pause  he  asked  her  if  there  were  many 
rattlesnakes  there. 

"  Sometimes  one  sees  two  or  three,  sometimes 
none  at  all,"  she  answered.  "  They  give  you  warn- 
ing; they  run  if  you  let  them.  It  might  be  better 
if  you  kept  to  the  path.  There  is  a  path  all  the 
way." 


YO   ESPERO.  125 

"Then  I'll  stick  to  it,"  he  said  lightly  ;"  I  sup- 
pose it's  too  late  to  go  to-day."  He  looked  at  his 
watch  and  raised  his  eyebrows.  "  Why,  it's  twelve 
o'clock !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  refused  to  believe  it  and  bent  her  dainty  head 
over  his  shoulder  to  see. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  she  cried,  "  uncle  will  question 
me!" 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other  with  new-born 
awkwardness.     She  took  one  short  step  backward. 

"  Are  you  going  ?  "  he  asked,  scarcely  conscious  of 
what  he  said. 

"  Why,  yes, — I  must." 

He  leaned  over  the  bridge  railing  and  looked  at 
the  crinkling  ripples.  After  a  while  she  also  bent 
over,  resting  her  elbows  on  the  railing.  A  brilliant 
green  beetle  ran  across  the  bleached  board,  halted, 
spread  its  burnished  wings,  and  buzzed  away  across 
the  stream.  A  small  fluffy  honey-wasp  alighted 
between  her  elbows  and  crept  quickly  into  a  hole  in 
the  splintering  plank. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  I  must  go." 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  her  frankly  in  the 
eyes : 

'-  I  should  like  to  see  you  again,"  he  said. 

"  Really  ?  Oh,  I  suppose  I  shall  pass  the  bridge 
again  before  you  go." 

"  How  do  you  know?  Suppose  I  should  go  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  You  said  you  were  going  fishing  to-morrow, — 
didn't  you  ?  " 


126  THE   HAUNTS    OF    MEN. 

"  Why  no, — I  didn't  say  so,"  he  said  eagerly  ;  "  I 
would  rather  talk  with  you." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  fishing  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  talk  to  you,"  he  repeated. 

"  What  shall  we  talk  about — blockade  whisky  ?  " 

They  both  laughed.  He  had  moved  up  beside 
her  again. 

"  I  want  to  see  you  again,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you 
can  see  that  I  do.  I  could  come  to  the  bridge  to- 
morrow. I  would  rather  the  people  at  the  hotel 
did  not  know.  My  uncle  has  forbidden  me  to  speak 
to  anybody  except  Zeke  and  the  boys.  When  I 
was  a  child  I  did  not  feel  very  lonely  ;  now  I  have 
the  greatest  longing  to  know  people — girls  of  my  own 
age.     I  dare  not." 

"  Have  you  no  girl  friend  at  all?" 

"  No.  I  should  like  to  know  older  women  too. 
At  night  in  bed  I  often  cry  and  cry — there  ! — I 
should  not  tell  you  such  things — " 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said  soberly. 

But  she  only  smiled  and  shook  her  head  saying; 
"  It  is  lonely  at  Yo  Espero." 

He  looked  into  her  grey  eyes;  they  troubled  him. 

"  I  dare  not  wait  any  longer,"  she  said, — "  good- 
bye,— will  you  come  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Here  ?     Yes.     Shall  I  come  early?  " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  At  seven  ?  " 

"Yes." 

He  offered  her  his  hand  but  she  did  not  take 
it. 


YO   ESPERO.  127 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  know  your  name, — 
no, — don't  tell  me  now, — let  me  think  a  little  of  what 
I  have  done.  If  I  come  to-morrow — then  you  may 
tell  me." 

He  watched  her  hurry  away  up  the  woodland  path 
that  leads  to  Yo  Espero.  When  she  was  gone  he 
stood  still,  idly  tearing  dried  splinters  from  the 
bridge  railing. 

II. 

The  piazzas  of  the  Diamond  Spring  Hotel  were 
empty  ;  the  guests  came  trooping  through  the  great 
square  hall  and  into  the  big  dining-room  to  be  fed. 

Young  Edgeworth  arrived  late  and  silently  took 
his  seat,  bowing  civilly  to  his  neighbours. 

There  were  fifteen  people  at  his  table,  including 
the  Reverend  Dr.  Beezeley,  who  presided,  flanked 
by  his  wife,  his  progeny,  and  a  bottle  of  Diamond 
Spring  water.  Near  to  the  Reverend  Orlando 
Beezeley  sat  another  minister,  a  little  pink  gentleman 
with  bulging  eyes.  His  name  was  Meeke  and  he 
looked  it.     But  he  wasn't. 

Now  the  Reverend  Orlando  Beezeley  and  Dr. 
Samuel  Meeke  were  both  of  a  stripe,  differing  on 
one  or  two  obscure  questions.  One  reverend  gen- 
tleman was  a  pillar  of  the  "  Pure  People's  League  ;  " 
the  other  wore  the  badge  of  the  "  Charity  Band." 
And  they  squabbled. 

For  their  leagues,  their  bands,  and  their  squab- 
bles, Edgeworth  cared  nothing.     He  believed  that 


128  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

all  people  should  be  allowed  to  worship  God  in  their 
own  fashion, — even  by  squabbling  if  they  chose.  He 
was  disposed  to  be  courteous  to  the  two  ministers 
and  their  wives  and  young.  It  was  difficult,  how- 
ever, partly  because  they  were  inquisitive,  partly  on 
account  of  the  Reverend  Orlando's  personal  habits, 
which  were  maddening.  He  put  his  fingers  into 
everything,  including  his  mouth  ;  they  were  always 
sticky,  and  this,  combined  with  cuffs  that  came  too 
far  over  his  knuckles,  oppressed  Edgeworth.  The 
Reverend  Orlando's  fingers  were  obtrusive.  When 
he  walked  they  spread  out,  perhaps  to  stem  the 
downward  avalanche  of  cuff.  He  also  twiddled 
them  when  he  had  no  other  use  for  them,  and 
Heaven  knows  he  put  them  to  uses  for  which  they 
were  never  intended. 

All  this  interfered  with  Edgeworth's  appetite  and 
he  shunned  the  Reverend  Orlando  Beezeley.  Once, 
at  the  table,  the  minister  asked  him  why  he  didn't 
go  to  the  Sunday  services  which  he,  Dr.  Beezeley, 
held  in  the  hotel  parlours,  and  when  Edgeworth 
said  it  was  because  he  didn't  want  to,  the  Reverend 
Orlando  sniffed  offensively.  For  a  week  the  atmos- 
phere was  surcharged  with  unpleasantness ;  but  one 
day  Dr.  Beezeley  asked  Edgeworth  what  he  did 
for  a  living,  and  Edgeworth  pleasantly  told  him  that 
it  was  none  of  his  business.  The  atmosphere  at 
once  cleared  up  and  the  Reverend  Orlando  became 
irksomely  affable.  This  was  because  he  was  afraid 
of  Edgeworth  and  disliked  him. 

Therefore,  when  Edgeworth  entered  the  dining- 


YO   ESPERO.  129 

room  and  slipped  quietly  into  his  chair,  Dr.  Beezeley 
said:  "  Hey  !  been  a-fishin?" 

"  No,"  said  Edgeworth. 

"  Where've  you  been  then?  "  urged  Mrs.  Beezeley, 
devoured  by  curiosity.  She  had  contracted  this 
disease  in  the  little  Boston  suburb  where  she  lived, 
and  she  had  infected  her  whole  family. 

"  I  have  been  out,"  said  Edgeworth  pleasantly. 

Dr.  Samuel  Meeke,  who  had  pricked  up  his  ears, 
relapsed  into  a  dull  contemplation  of  Mrs.  Dill 
again. 

But  Mrs.  Beezeley  was  not  defeated.  She  turned 
to  the  pallid  lady  beside  her,  Mrs.  Dill,  and  said  in 
a  thin  high  voice :  "  Pass  the  trout  to  Mr.  Edge- 
worth  ;  he  can't  seem  to  catch  any — even  off  the 
old  foot-bridge." 

Edgeworth  was  intensely  annoyed,  for  it  was 
plain  that  some  of  the  Beezeley  brood  had  been 
spying.  He  looked  at  Master  Ballington  Beezeley 
who  grinned  at  him  impertinently. 

His  father  was  busy  feeding  himself  with  mashed 
potato,  but  he  observed  his  heir's  impudence  and 
was  not  displeased. 

"  I  seen  you,"  cried  the  youthful  Beezeley, 
writhing  with  the  pressure  of  untold  secrets, — "  you 
was  mashin'  a  country-girl,  Mister  Edgeworth, — I 
seen  you  !  " 

"Te-he!"  tittered  Mrs.  Dill. 

"  '  I  saw  you,'  would  perhaps  be  more  correct," 
said  Edgeworth;  "  unless  perhaps  your  parents  have 
instructed  you  to  the  contrary — " 


[30  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Ballington  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Beezeley,  turning  red, 
"  how  dare  yo,u  use  such  grammar  ?  " 

Edgeworth  surveyed  the  defeat  of  the  Beezeleys 
without  any  particular  emotion. 

Mrs.  Dill  attempted  to  save  the  day  but  choked 
on  an  olive  and  was  assisted  from  the  room  by  Dr. 
Samuel  Meeke.  Then  the  Beezeleys  made  Mrs. 
Meeke  wretched  with  significant  looks  and  smiles 
and  half-suppressed  coughs,  until  she  rose  to  find 
out  why  Mrs.  Dill  and  her  husband  did  not  return. 
Poor  little  woman  !  her  bosom  friend,  Mrs.  Beezeley, 
had  long  ago  quenched  for  her  what  little  comfort 
in  life  she  ever  knew. 

When  the  Reverend  Orlando  Beezeley  had  fed  to 
repletion,  he  removed  the  napkin  from  his  chin, 
cleared  his  throat,  picked  his  teeth,  and  finally  took 
himself  off  to  the  piazza. 

"  I  can't  stand  this  table  full  much  longer,"  mut- 
tered Edgeworth  to  himself,  and  he  called  to  the 
head  waiter,  a  majestic  personage  of  colour,  and  also 
a  Baptist  deacon. 

"  Deacon,"  said  he,  "  give  me  a  place  at  another 
table  to-night,  can  you  ?  " 

"  Sho'ly,  Sho'ly,  Mistuh  Edgewurf,"  said  the  ma- 
jestic one  ;  "  might  you  prefer  to  be  seated  at  Mis' 
Weldon's  table,  Mistuh  Edgewurf?  " 

Edgeworth  looked  across  at  Mrs.  Weldon  and 
then  at  her  pretty  daughter,  Claire. 

"  Go  over  and  ask  Mrs.  Weldon  whether  she  ob- 
jects," he  said. 

Mrs.    Weldon    did    not    object    and    neither   did 


YO   ESPERO.  131 

Claire,  so  Edgeworth  walked  over  and  said  some 
polite  things  which  he  forgot  a  minute  afterward. 
So  did  Mrs.  Weldon.     I  am  not  sure  about  Claire. 

When  Edgeworth  went  out  on  the  veranda  to 
smoke  his  pipe,  a  young  fellow  in  tweeds  and  scarlet 
golf-jacket,  who  was  sitting  astride  the  railing  said  : 
"  Hello,  Jim,  it's  all  over  the  hotel  that  you're 
sweet  on  some  country  girl." 

"Tommy,"  said  Edgeworth,  in  a  low  pleasant 
voice,  "  go  to  the  devil !  " 

O'Hara  smiled  serenely. 

"  I  suppose  it's  that  Beezeley  whelp,  eh,  Jim  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  it  is.  A  fellow  can't  brush  his  hair  but 
it's  reported  in  Diamond  Springs." 

"  Oh,  there's  truth  in  it  then,"  laughed  O'Hara. 

"That,"  said  Edgeworth,  "is  none  of  your  con- 
founded business  ;  "  and  they  strolled  off  together, 
arm  in  arm,  smoking  placidly. 

"  These  Beezeleys,"  said  O'Hara,  "  are  blights  on 
the  landscape.  They  ought  to  be  exterminated 
with  Paris-green." 

"  Or  drowned  in  tubs,"  said  Edgeworth. 

"  Like  unpleasant  kittens,"  added  O'Hara. 

"  Come,"  said  Jim  Edgeworth,  "  what  was  that 
yarn  you  wanted  to  spin  for  me  this  morning  ?  " 

"Yarn?  'Tis  no  yarn,"  said  O'Hara;  "it's  the 
truth  and  it  troubles  me.  Sit  down  here  on  the 
grass  till  I  tell  you.  Look  at  the  veranda,  Jim  ; 
it's  like  a  circus  with  the  band  playing." 

"  The  girls'  frocks  are  very  pretty ;  I  like  lots  of 
colour,"  said  Edgeworth. 


132  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  There's  plenty  in  Claire  Weldon's  cheeks,"  ob- 
served O'Hara,  gloomily. 

"  It's  natural,"  said  Jim. 

"  It  was  before  you  came.  Now  she  puts  more  on 
in  your  honour ; — confound  it,  man,  can't  you  see 
the  lass  is  forever  making  eyes  at  you  ? — and,  Jim, 
it's  death  to  me  !  " 

Edgeworth  stared  at  him. 

"  Oh,  you're  blinder  than  the  white  bat  of  Drum- 
gilt !  "  said  O'Hara;  "  you've  eyes  in  your  head,  but 
they're  only  there  for  ornament.  Didn't  you  know 
I  am  in  love  with  Claire  Weldon  now?" 

"  Why  no,"  said  Edgeworth,  "  are  you  really, 
Tommy?  " 

"  Am  I  really,  Tommy  ?  Faith,  I  thought  even 
the  fish  in  Gay  Brook  knew  it." 

"  Well,"  laughed  Edgeworth,  "  go  in  and  win, 
then !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  it?  "  said  Tommy  gravely. 

"  Mean  it  ?     My  dear  fellow,  why  shouldn't   I  ?  " 

O'Hara  beamed  upon  him  and  grasped  his  hand. 

"  There !  "  he  cried,  "  I  knew  it !  I've  told  her  ye 
didn't  care  tuppence  for  any  lass,  and  if  she  didn't 
take  me  she'd  be  doin'  herself  but  ill  service." 

Edgeworth  burst  into  fits  of  laughter.  "  Is  that 
the  way  you  woo  a  girl,  Tom  O'Hara  ?  " 

"There  are  ways  and  ways,"  said  O'Hara  dog- 
gedly. 

"  How  about  Sir  Brian  ? "  asked  Jim,  checking 
his  mirth. 

Sir    Brian    was    Tommy's    father.     The    several 


YO   ESPERO.  133 

thousand  miles  that  separated  father  and  son  did 
not  lessen  Tommy's  uneasiness  concerning  his 
father's  approval. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Tom  ;  "  if  he  disowns  me 
I'll  go  to  work,  that  I  will !  and  Claire  knows  it." 

"  They  say,"  said  Edgeworth,  "  that  the  O'Haras 
always  get  what  they  want." 

"  They  do.  My  grandfather  loved  a  lass  who 
died,  so  he  blew  out  his  brains  and  caught  her  in 
heaven." 

"  Hm  !  "  coughed  Edgeworth. 

"Do  you  know  to  the  contrary?"  demanded 
O'Hara. 

"  No,"  said  Jim,  "  I'll  have  to  wait  a  bit  to  verify 
this  story.  Have  you  any  tobacco  ?  Thanks,  my 
pipe's  out.  Look  at  the  sky,  Tom  ;  it's  pretty, 
isn't  it  ?" 

They  sprawled  on  their  backs  and  kicked  up  their 
heels  ;  two  bronzed  young  athletes, — as  trim  a  pair 
as  one  might  see  anywhere  betwixt  the  poles  of 
this  planet. 

"Hark,"  said  Edgeworth,  "hear  Beezeley  and 
Meeke  squabbling  over  their  Maker.  Do  you  sup- 
pose He  hears  them  ?  He  is  so  very  faraway.  Hark 
how  they  wrangle  over  their  future  blessedness.  I 
should  think  they  would  be  ashamed  to  have  God 
hear  them." 

"  Beezeley  says  he  believes  in  hell,  but  doesn't 
want  to  go  there,"  said  O'Hara,  lazily. 

"  There's  no  hell,"  said  Edgeworth.  He  hadn't 
lived  long  enough  to  know ;  he  was  nineteen. 


134  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

O'Hara  raised  himself  on  one  elbow  and  looked 
at  him. 

"  No  hell?"  he  asked. 

"  No." 

If  he  had  seen  the  lines  in  O'Hara's  young  face, — 
the  faint  marks  about  the  eyes  and  mouth,  he 
might  have  answered  differently. 

The  afternoon  sunlight  lay  warm  across  the  level 
meadow.  The  locust  trees  were  in  full  bloom,  deep 
laden  with  heavy,  drooping  clusters  of  white  blossoms. 
Every  wandering  breeze  bore  the  penetrating  sweet- 
ness of  the  locusts  and  the  delicate  odour  of  hemlock 
and  pine.  Great  scarlet  trumpet-flowers  swayed  in 
the  May  wind ;  from  the  nearer  forest  came  the 
scent  of  dogwood  and  azalea.  Over  the  greensward 
butterflies  fluttered,  little  white  ones,  chasing  each 
other  among  the  dandelions,  great  swallow-tailed 
butterflies,  yellow  and  black,  flopping  around  the 
phlox,  or  pursuing  a  capricious  course  along  the 
river  bank.  There  were  others  too,  gay  comma- 
butterflies,  delicate  violet  or  blue  swallow-tailed 
butterflies,  and  now  and  then  a  rare  shy  comrade  of 
theirs,  pale  sulphur  and  grey,  striped  like  a  zebra, 
that  darted  across  the  flower-beds  and  flitted  away 
to  its  dusky  haunts  among  the  shrub-oak  and  holly 
of  the  mountain  sides.  An  oriole,  gorgeous  in  orange 
and  black,  uttered  a  sweet  call  from  the  lower 
branches  of  an  oak.  A  bluebird  dropped  into  the 
lower  grass  under  the  bushes.  Then  a  catbird  began 
to  sing  and  trill  and  warble  until  the  whole  air 
rippled  with  melody. 


YO   ESPERO.  135 

"  'Tis  a  nightingale  or  I'm  in  Drumgilt  ! "  said 
O'Hara,  sitting  up. 

"  It's  a  male  catbird,"  said  Edgeworth,  rising ; 
"  come  on,  Tom  !  " 

O'Hara  picked  himself  up  from  the  grass,  scraped 
out  his  pipe,  ran  a  grass-stem  through  it,  and  looked 
at  the  sun. 

"  We  have  loafed  the  whole  afternoon  away,"  he 
said. 

"  I  was  anxious  to  kill  time,"  said  Edgeworth. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  girl  at  the  bridge. 

"  Kill  time  !  kill  time  !  "  said  O'Hara  impatiently, 
— "  why,  man,  'tis  time  that  kills  us  !  I'm  going  to 
find  Miss  Weldon,  and  I'd  be  obliged  to  ye  to  stay 
away." 

"  Bosh  !  "  said  Edgeworth,  "you're  worth  twenty 
like  me." 

"That  I  am!"  said  Tom,  "but  I'll  be  saying 
good  night,  lad  !  And  for  the  love  of  me,  stay  away 
from  Claire  Weldon.     You  don't  want  my  curse  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  laughed  Edgeworth;  "but  I'm  going 
to  dine  at  their  table.  I  asked  the  Deacon  to  fix 
it.     I  can't  stand  the  holy  alliance  any  longer." 

"  All  right,"  said  O'Hara,  "when  a  girl  has  to  see 
a  man  eat  three  times  a  day,  she  loses  her  illusions 
concerning  him." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Edgeworth. 

But  O'Hara  swung  off  across  the  clover,  whistling 
"  Terry  Bowen  "  and  buttoning  his  scarlet  golf-jacket 
with  an  irritating  air  of  self-satisfaction. 

"  The   mischief  take  Tom  and  his  girls !  "    said 


136  THE   HAUNTS    OF   MEN. 

Edgeworth  to  himself,  but  he  looked  after  Tom  and 
smiled,  for  he  thought  the  world  revolved  about 
O'Hara.  Still  he  began  to  be  lonely  again,  now  that 
O'Hara  was  gone. 

"  Why  the  deuce  can't  he  spend  a  half  hour  now 
and  then  with  me?  "  he  muttered  to  himself ;  "what 
can  he  find  to  talk  about  all  day  to  that  one  girl  ?  " 


III. 


That  night  after  dinner  he  found  himself  joining 
the  procession  upon  the  veranda,  walking  with  a 
pretty  girl  whom  he  did  not  remember  meeting,  but, 
from  whose  conversation,  he  knew  he  must  have 
danced  attendance  on  somewhere  or  other. 

In  the  half  light  of  the  mellow  Japanese  lanterns, 
he  caught  glimpses  of  familiar  faces  in  the  throng; 
Dr.  Beezeley,  unctuous  and  sticky-fingered,  the  faded 
Mrs.  Dill  with  Dr.  Samuel  Meeke,  poor  little  Mrs. 
Meeke,  anxiously  smiling  when  she  caught  the  pro- 
truding eyes  of  her  husband,  Mrs.  Weldon,  gracious 
and  serene,  walking  with  some  tall,  heavy-whiskered 
Southerner,  Tommy  O'Hara  conducting  Miss  Claire 
Weldon,  with  something  of  the  determination  that 
one  notices  in  troopers  who  convoy  treasure-trains. 
In  and  out  of  the  lights  they  passed  him,  vague  im- 
pressions of  filmy  draperies  and  lantern-Ht  faces, 
with  now  and  then  a  shadowy  gesture  or  a  sparkle 
of  eyes  in  the  twilight.  Beyond,  the  dark  foliage  of 
sycamore  and  maple  loomed  motionless,  with  never 


YO   ESPERO.  137 

a  wind  to  stir  the  tender  leaves,  but  the  locust-trees, 
where  the  grape-like  bunches  of  white  blossoms  hung, 
were  all  hazy  with  the  quivering  wings  of  dusk- 
moths.  Slender  sphinx-moths  darted  and  turned 
and  hovered  over  the  phlox,  grey  wraiths  of  dead 
humming-birds,  poised  above  phantom  flowers.  Be- 
low the  fountain  spray,  drifting  fine  as  a  veil  of  mist 
across  the  shadowy  blossoms  of  white  iris,  a  hidden 
tree-frog  quavered  a  sweet-treble,  and  on  every 
twig-tip  gauzy-winged  creatures  scraped  resonant 
accompaniment. 

"Of  what  are  you  thinking,  Mr.  Edgeworth?" 
asked  the  girl  beside  him. 

He  started  slightly  ;  he  had  quite  forgotten  her. 
He  had  been  thinking  of  the  girl  at  the  bridge  and 
the  tryst  next  morning,  but  he  said :  "  I  was  listen- 
ing to  the  tree-frog.     It  means  rain  to  morrow." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  was  going  to 
Painted  Mountain  on  horseback.  Shall  we  sit  here 
a  moment  ?  "  She  shook  out  her  skirts  and  seated 
herself,  and  he  found  a  place  on  the  veranda  railing 
beside  her. 

"  Painted  Mountain  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  that  is  beyond 
Yo  Espero,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yo  Espero  is  on  the  southern  slope.  I  heard 
such  an  interesting  story  about  Yo  Espero  to-day  ; 
shall  I  tell  you  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  sharply,  then  nodded,  saying: 
"  Tell  me  first  what  Yo  Espero  means.  It's  Spanish, 
isn't  it?" 

"  I    don't    know, — I    suppose  so.      I    believe   it 


I38  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

means  '  /  hope.'  The  village, — there's  only  one 
house  you  know, — was  named  Yo  Espero  by  the 
only  inhabitant.  They  say  he  took  the  name  from 
the  label  on  the  lid  of  an  old  cigar-box  that  he  found 
among  the  rocks." 

"  Very  unromantic  and  intensely  American,"  said 
Edgeworth  laughing. 

"  Ah,  but  wait, — there's  more  to  come.  The  man 
who  lives  at  Yo  Espero  has  a  niece,  a  beauty  they 
say,  and  would  you  believe  it,  the  man,  her  uncle, 
named  her  also  Yo  Espero  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Edgeworth  musingly. 

"  Poor  girl, — named  from  a  cigar  brand  !  It  is 
wicked — don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Edgeworth?" 

"  Yo  Espero,"  he  repeated  softly, — "  I  don't  know, 
— Yo  Espero." 

"  Her  uncle  calls  her  Io  for  short  when  he  does 
not  call  her  Yo  Espero.  He  must  be  a  brute.  They 
say  he  knows  things  about  the  blockade  too." 

Edgeworth  became  interested. 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  girl,"  she  continued,  "  but 
Mrs.  Weldon  has,  and  she  says  the  girl  is  simply  a 
raving  beauty.  Dr.  Beezeley  tried  to  call  on  the 
uncle  but  was  shown  the  door  without  ceremony. 
They  say  the  man  is  well  educated  and  from  the 
North,  but  he  won't  allow  anybody  to  enter  his 
house  or  speak  to  his  niece." 

"  Do  you  know  his  name  ?  "  asked  Edgeworth. 

"  Mrs.  Beezeley  says  it  is  Clyde.  He  is  some 
broken-down  Northern  man  of  good  family  who  has 
sunk  low  enough  to  mix  himself  up  with  the  block- 


YO   ESPERO.  139 

ade.  People  say  the  Revenue  Officers  are  after  him 
and  will  get  him  sooner  or  later.  I  wonder  what 
the  girl  will  do  then  ?  " 

"  I  wonder,"  repeated  Edgeworth  under  his 
breath;  "hello!  here's  Tommy  O'Hara,  the  pride 
of  Drumgilt !  " 

"And  the  Pride  has  had  a  fall,"  said  O'Hara  sen- 
timentally ; — "  did — did  you  notice  if  Miss  Weldon 
was  passing  this  way,  Jim?  Ah,  did  you  see  her 
pass,  Miss  Marwood  ?  With  Colonel  Scarborough  ? 
Oh,  the  mischief !  " 

"  Come,"  laughed  Miss  Marwood,  "  we'll  go  and 
find  them  ;  Mr.  Edgeworth  doesn't  care ;  he  likes 
solitude — " 

Edgeworth  attempted  to  protest,  but  was  bidden 
to  go  with  them  or  stay,  as  he  pleased.  And  he 
stayed, — to  smoke  and  muse  and  ponder  on  the  long 
dim  porch  while  the  dew  dripped  from  the  perfumed 
vines,  and  the  great  stars  spangled  the  sky,  and  the 
million  voices  of  the  night  sang  of  summers  past 
and  summers  to  come.  And  the  burden  of  the  song 
was  always  the  same,  Yo  Espero,  Yo  Espero. 

At  seven  o'clock  next  morning,  Edgeworth  stood 
on  the  little  foot-bridge,  leaning  both  elbows  upon 
the  wooden  railing.  Between  his  elbows  was  a  fresh 
white  cut  in  the  weather-stained  plank,  from  which 
a  shaving  of  wood  had  recently  been  planed,  and  on 
this  white  space  was  printed  in  pencil : 

"  I  shall  not  see  you  again." 

He  never  doubted  that  the  message  was  for  him 
He  leaned  idly  upon  the  rail,  reading  and  re-reading 


I40  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

it.  A  fine  warm  rain,  scarcely  more  than  a  mist, 
was  falling  through  the  calm  air.  The  tiny  globules 
powdered  his  cap  and  coat,  shining  like  frost-dust. 

Presently  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  found  a  jack- 
knife,  opened  it,  and  deliberately  shaved  the  writing 
from  the  plank.     Then,  in  his  turn  he  wrote : 

"  If  you  will  not  see  me  I  shall  go  to-morrow." 

"  Let  the  Beezeley  whelp  read  that  and  make  the 
most  of  it,"  he  muttered,  turning  away  with  an 
unaccustomed  feeling  of  wistfulness. 

What  he  longed  for  he  did  not  know ;  perhaps 
for  a  little  of  O'Hara's  society,  so  he  lighted  his 
pipe  and  started  toward  the  hotel,  his  hands  deep 
in  his  pockets,  his  tanned  cheeks  glistening  with  the 
fine  rain. 

After  a  few  moments  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  put  it  rather  strongly  ; — in  fact  it  was  an  un- 
warranted and  idiotic  thing  to  write.  Why  in  the 
world  should  he  leave  Diamond  Springs  because  a 
girl  whom  he  had  met  three  times  and  spoken  to 
once,  refused  to  meet  him  again?  He  hesitated, 
mused  a  little,  and  finally  resumed  his  course.  Let 
it  stay  as  it  was ;  it  mattered  nothing  to  him  any- 
way. He  would  leave  the  hotel, — he  would  leave 
the  state  too,  for  that  matter,  for  he  was  sick  and 
weary  of  the  Carolinas,  and  of  the  big  hotels,  filled 
with  invalids  who  sat  in  hot  baths  or  drank  bottles 
of  nasty  "waters."  Would  O'Hara  go  with  him? 
He  thought  of  Claire  Weldon  and  frowned. 

"  She's  spoiled  O'Hara,  that's  what  she's  done!" 
he  pondered  bitterly. 


YO   ESPERO.  141 

When  he  came  in  sight  of  the  hotel  he  saw  Dr. 
Beezeley  pottering  about  the  croquet  ground. 
When  the  reverend  gentleman  walked,  his  flat  feet 
scraped  the  gravel  and  lapped  over  each  other  in 
front,  like  the  toes  of  a  Shanghai  rooster. 

"  Hey  !  "  said  Dr.  Beezeley,  "  been  a  walkin'  ?  " 

Edgeworth  nodded. 

"  Want  to  play  croquet  ?  "  asked  Beezeley,  look- 
ing at  him  over  his  glasses  ;  "  it  ain't  goin'  to  rain 
much  more." 

Edgeworth  said  he  never  played  croquet. 

Beezeley  straightened  a  wicket,  hammered  a 
painted  stake,  and  sniffed. 

His  face,  with  the  bunchy  chop-whiskers  cut 
a  little  close,  reminded  Edgeworth  of  the  counte- 
nance of  some  big  buck  rabbit.  The  reverend  gen- 
tleman also  had  other  rabbit  peculiarities,  such  as  a 
perpetual  appetite,  a  prehensile  lip,  and  an  enor- 
mous progeny. 

O'Hara  hailed  him  from  the  tennis  courts  and  he 
went  over,  puffing  his  pipe  moodily.  But  when  he 
found  that  Tommy  intended  to  invite  two  girls  to 
make  up  doubles,  Edgeworth  flatly  refused  to  play. 

"Confound  it,  Tommy,"  he  said,  "you  are  good 
enough  company  for  me,  and  I  ought  to  be  for  you. 
What's  the  use  of  lugging  in  strangers  every 
minute?  " 

"  Ladies  are  never  strangers,"  said  Tom  airily  ; 
"  one  of  them  is  Miss  Weldon." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Edgeworth  savagely,  "  but 
she  can't  play  tennis.     Is  it  a  kindergarten  you're 


142  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

setting  up,  Tom  O'Hara?  Call  your  caddy  and 
come  on  to  the  links." 

"  Listen  to  the  lad  !  "  said  O'Hara  ;  "  why,  man, 
I'll  go  with  you  where  you  like  and  I'll  do  what  you 
like, — only,"  he  added,  "  I  have  an  appointment  to 
ride  at  ten — with  Miss  Weldon." 

"  Ride  then,"  said  Edgeworth  with  a  scowl,  and 
turned  on  his  heel,  leaving  O'Hara  a  sadly  puzzled 
man. 

"  What  the  mischief  is  the  matter  with  me,  any- 
how ? "  muttered  Edgeworth,  striding  wrathfully 
away  across  the  meadow ;  "  why  can't  I  let  Tommy 
alone  with  his  girl.  I'm  making  a  nuisance  of  my- 
self I  fancy." 

The  restlessness  which  possessed  him  he  did  not 
even  attempt  to  analyse.  That  it  was  caused  by 
something  or  somebody  outside  of  himself  he  was 
convinced. 

"  These  people  here,"  he  thought,  "  are  empty- 
headed  and  common — when  they're  not  sanctimo- 
nious and  vulgar.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I'm  going  to 
spend  the  time  talking  platitudes  to  girls  in  golf 
gowns." 

Of  course  it  was  their  fault  that  he  felt  irritable 
and  bored.  He  thought  of  his  book,  "The  Origin 
of  the  Cherokee  Indian,"  but  the  prospect  of  shut- 
ting himself  in  his  room  to  drive  a  pen  over  reams 
of  foolscap  had  small  attraction  for  him.  The 
rain  had  ceased,  the  heavy  perfumed  air,  vague  with 
vapour,  oppressed  him,  and  he  looked  up  at  the 
mountains,  half  veiled  in  mist.     But  climbing  was 


YO   ESPERO.  143 

out  of  the  question, — he  didn't  know  exactly  why, 
— but  it  was  clearly  out  of  the  question.  He  would 
not  go  fishing  either  ;  neither  would  he  read.  What 
was  there  left  to  do?  Nothing,  except  to  go  back 
to  the  foot-bridge. 

So  when  at  last,  by  the  highways  and  byways  of 
cogitation,  he  had  completed  the  circle,  and  had  ar- 
rived at  the  point  from  which  he  started,  he  found 
that  his  legs  had  secured  the  precedence  of  his 
brain,  for  already  they  were  landing  him  at  the  foot- 
bridge. 

He  was  really  a  little  surprised  when  he  found 
himself  there.  He  stepped  to  the  railing  to  find  his 
inscription.  Somebody  had  shaved  it  off  with  a 
knife,  and,  in  its  place  was  written  : 

"  Good-bye." 

It  was  then  that  Edgeworth  experienced  a  most 
amazing,  not  to  say  painful,  sensation.  It  started  in 
the  region  of  the  heart,  and,  before  he  was  aware,  it 
began  to  affect  his  throat. 

"  Good-bye." 

He  looked  stupidly  at  the  word,  repeating  it  aloud 
once  or  twice.  Presently  he  pulled  out  his  knife 
and  hacked  away  the  writing  with  a  misty  idea  that 
it  might  bother  him  less  when  it  was  obliterated. 
On  the  contrary  it  bothered  him  more  than  ever. 
A  desire  possessed  him  to  go  away,  but,  when  he 
pictured  himself  in  a  train,  rushing  northward,  the 
prospect  was  not  as  alluring  as  he  felt  it  should  be. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  he  knew  O'Hara  would  not 
go  with  him. 


144  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  The  devil  take  Tom  O'Hara! "  he  blurted  out. 

The  effect  of  this  outburst  did  not  soothe  him  ; 
it  did,  however,  frighten  a  small  hedge-sparrow  nearly 
to  death. 

He  looked  up  at  the  sun-warped  sign-post  on  the 
end  of  the  bridge.  It  bore  the  following  valuable 
information. 


*****  • 

Hog  Mountain 6  miles. 

Buzzard  Run 10  miles. 


Red  Rock i  mile. 

Yo  Espero 3  miles. 


"Yo  Espero,"  he  repeated  aloud. 

There  was  a  step  on  the  creaking  planks  behind 
him, — a  light  step, — but  he  heard  it. 

They  faced  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
The  sun  shone  out  of  the  mist  above  and  tinged  the 
edges  of  her  hair  with  a  mellow  radiance. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  we  can't  stay  here." 

"  Where— then  ?  " 

Their  eyes  met.  Her  lips  were  slightly  parted ; 
perhaps  she  had  walked  fast,  for  her  breast  rose  and 
fell  irregularly.  In  that  silent  exchange  of  glances, 
each  read,  for  one  brief  second,  a  line  in  the  book  of 
fate  ; — each  read, — but  whether  they  understood  or 
not,  God  knows,  for  they  smiled  at  each  other  and 
turned  away,  side  by  side  into  the  forest. 


YO   ESPERO.  I45 


IV. 

"  Yo  Espero  !  Yo  Espero  !  "  Asleep,  awake,  the 
words  haunted  him,  night  and  day  they  rang  in  his 
ears,  "  Yo  Espero,  Yo  Espero."  The  brooks  sang 
it ;  in  the  hot  mid-day  the  cadence  of  the  meadow 
creatures  took  it  up  ;  the  orioles  repeated  it  across 
the  fields,  the  thrushes'  hymn  was  for  her  alone  : 
"  Yo  Espero,  Yo  Espero." 

Days  dawned  and  vanished,  brief  as  the  flash  of 
a  fire-fly  wing.  The  locust-trees  powdered  the 
greensward  with  white  blossoms,  the  laurel,  dainty 
and  conventional,  spread  its  flowered  cambric  out  to 
dry,  and  the  dogwood  leaves  drifted  through  the 
forest  like  snowflakes. 

O'Hara,  the  triumphant  affianced  of  Claire,  pro- 
voked the  wrath  of  all  unaffianced  gods  and  men. 
He  simply  mooned.  Guests  arrived  and  guests  left 
the  Diamond  Spring  Hotel,  but  the  Beezeleys  stayed 
on  for  ever.  There  were  captains  and  colonels  and 
generals  from  the  South  ;  the  names  of  Fairfax  and 
Marmaduke  and  Carter  and  Stuart  were  heard  in 
corridor  and  card-room.  There  were  Rittenhouses 
and  Appletons,  and  Van  Burens,  too,  and  the  flat 
bleat  of  Philadelphia  echoed  the  colourless  jargon 
of  Boston  and  the  semi-civilized  accent  of  New 
York. 


I46  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

It  was  the  middle  of  May.  The  catbirds  had 
ceased  their  music  and  now  haunted  the  garden, 
mewing  from  every  thicket.  A  crested  blue  jay, 
ominous  prophet  of  distant  autumn,  screamed 
viciously  at  the  great  belted  kingfishers,  but  wisely 
avoided  these  dagger-billed  birds,  and  also  the  oc- 
casional cock-of-the-woods  that  flew  into  the  oak- 
grove,  and  tapped  all  day  on  the  loose  bark. 

Edgeworth  loved  all  these  creatures.  A  few 
weeks  previous  he  hadn't  cared  tuppence  for  them. 
But  now  it  was  different ;  he  felt  at  home  with  all 
the  world  ;  he  smiled  knowingly  at  the  thrushes,  he 
nodded  gaily  to  the  great  blue  heron,  and  laughed 
when  that  dignified  but  snobbish  biped  cut  him 
dead.  Flowers  too  he  was  on  good  terms  with  ;  he 
haunted  the  woods,  now  all  ablaze  with  azaleas,  he 
sat  among  blue  and  violet  larkspurs  and  felt  that  he 
was  among  friends.  The  little  wood-violets  peeped 
up  at  him  fearlessly ;  they  knew  he  would  never 
pick  them  ;  the  big  orange  lady-slippers  arranged 
themselves  neatly,  two  by  two,  as  he  passed,  but  he 
laughingly  disregarded  their  offers.  True,  the  girl 
at  his  side, — for  he  never  rambled  alone, — was 
worthy  of  such  self-sacrifice  on  the  part  of  any  lady- 
slipper,  orange  or  maroon. 

"  Io,"  he  said,  as  they  lay  in  the  forest  on  the 
heights  above  Diamond  Springs,  "  can  you  realise 
it  all?  I  scarcely  can.  Was  it  yesterday,  was  it 
last  week, — was  it  years  ago  that  I  said  good  morn- 
ing to  you  there  on  our  bridge?  " 

"  Jim,  I  don't  know." 


YO  ESPERO.  I47 

Her  hair  had  fallen  down  and  she  flung  it  like  a 
glistening  veil  from  her  face.  She  lay  full  length 
across  the  soft  pine  needles,  her  scarlet  lips  parted, 
tearing  bits  of  flame-colored  azalia  blossoms  from  a 
cluster  at  her  belt. 

"  See  the  lizards,"  said  Edgeworth  sitting  up 
beside  her,  "  see  them  race  over  the  dry  leaves  ! 
There  !     They've  run  up  a  tree  !     Look,  Io." 

"  I  see,"  she  said.  But  she  was  looking  up  at 
him. 

He  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her,  both  hands 
clasped  in  hers. 

"  You  didn't  look  at  all,"  he  said. 

"  Didn't  I?"  whispered  Yo  Espero. 

It  was  true  that  she  had  not  looked.  When  her 
eyes  were  not  fastened  upon  his  face,  they  were 
closed. 

So  he  sat  smiling  down  at  her  with  her  slim  fin- 
gers twisted  in  his  ;  and  that  shadow  of  wistfulness 
that  ever  hovers  close  to  happiness,  fell  over  his 
eyes.  And  he  said  :  "Do. you  ever  regret — any- 
thing— Io  ?  " 

She  smiled  faintly. 

"  No — nothing,  dear." 

"  Nothing?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  Then  you  are  happy." 

"  Yes." 

What  had  she  to  regret?  She  loved  him.  To 
him  she  came,  sick  at  heart  for  the  companionship 
which  she  had  never  known.     He  had  delivered  her 


I48  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

from  her  loneliness.  First  she  listened  to  him  with 
the  fierce  happiness  of  the  lonely  ;  then  she  idolized 
him  ;  then  she  loved  him.  Love  was  all  she  had  to 
give ;  and  she  gave  it,  even  before  he  asked, — gave 
it  without  thought  or  regret. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that  you  have  the 
prettiest  hands  in  the  world?" 

"Have  I?" 

"  Don't  you  know  that  your  whole  figure  is  ex- 
quisite? " 

She  raised  one  hand  indolently  and  placed  the 
fingers  across  his  lips. 

"  What  do  I  care, — if  you  love  me?  "  she  said. 

"  But  I  care,"  he  said ;  "  to  think  that  you, — all, 
all  of  you, — with  your  beautiful  eyes  and  your  neck 
and  your  lips  and  these  two  little  hands,  are  mine — 
all  mine! — " 

"And  that  brown  hair  above  me — is  mine, — isn't 
it  ?  "  murmured  the  girl ;  "  I  never  asked  you  before, 
but  don't — don't  I  own  some  of  you  too  ?  I  have 
given  you  all  of  myself." 

It  was  little  to  ask ; — the  question  was  a  new  one 
though,  and  he  suddenly  began  to  wonder  how  much 
of  him  she  did  own.  He  looked  at  her  half  curi- 
ously as  she  lay  there,  her  innocent  face  upturned, 
her  young  figure  flung  across  the  pine-needle  mat- 
ting of  the  forest.  Her  eyes  told  him  she  loved 
him;  every  line  and  curve  of  her  sweet  body  solem- 
nized the  vow. 

"  Io,"  he  said,  "all  of  me  that  is  worth  owning 
you  own." 


YO  ESPERO.  149 

"  This  hand  ?  "  she  asked,  locking  her  fingers  in  his. 

"Both,"  he  said. 

"Everything?     All— all  ?  " 

"All,  Yo  Espero." 

"  You  never  said  so — before." 

"  I  say  it  now  ;  all !  all !  all !  " 


"  We  will  go  to  Silver  Mine  Creek,"  said  Yo 
Espero,  "  and  we  will  fish  there  for  a  little  fish. 
There  are  bass  in  the  French  Broad,  and  you  shall 
catch  them  from  the  rifts  below  Deepwater  Bridge. 
We  will  gallop  on  horseback  to  Sunset  Sands  and 
we  will  go  to  Bubbling  Spring.  All  this  will  take 
time,  you  know,  but  you  are  never  going  away,  are 
you  ?  Hush  !  I  could  not  live  until  sunrise.  Then, 
in  the  fall,  we  will  go  across  to  the  little  Hurricane 
where  there  are  deer.  You  shall  shoot  a  great  wild- 
turkey  also!  Dear  me!  What  more  can  a  man 
ask  for?  And  then  there  are  teal  and  mallard  on 
the  French  Broad  before  the  ice  has  bridged  the 
Little  Red  Horse.     You  will  love  the  South." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  he  answered,  soberly ;  but  his  eyes 
were  turned  to  the  North. 

"  I  know  lots  of  springs  in  the  forest,"  she  said, 
watching  his  face. 

"And  blockade  stills?"  he  smiled. 

She  laughed  outright  and  sat  up,  gathering  her 
heavy  hair  into  a  twist. 

"  There  is  one  within  a  few  steps  of  where  we  sit ; 
you  could  never  find  it,"  she  said,  tauntingly. 


150  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Oho  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  whose  ?  " 

"Zeke's,"  said  the  girl,  "  I  could  go  to  it  in  two 
minutes, — hark  ! — was  that  a  gunshot  from  the 
valley  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  was,"  he  said,  "  it  came  from  that 
way,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  west. 

"  From  Painted  Mountain !  Did  it  sound  like  a 
rifle,  Jim?  " 

Her  eyes  were  very  bright.  Two  red  spots  glowed 
on  either  cheek. 

"I  don't  know,  dear,"  he  said,  "why?" 

As  he  spoke  he  rose  and  stepped  back  two  paces. 
And  as  he  took  the  second  step  there  came  a  whirr, 
a  girl's  scream,  and  a  rattlesnake  struck  him  twice 
above  the  ankle. 

For  one  second  the  forest  swam  before  his  eyes ; 
then  a  cold  sweat  started  from  the  roots  of  his 
hair  and  he  bent  and  picked  up  a  stick,  shaking 
in  every  limb.  It  was  over  in  a  moment ;  the 
snake  lay  dead,  shuddering  and  twisting  among  the 
rocks,  but  it  was  Yo  Espero  who  had  crushed  it,  and 
now  she  turned  to  him  a  face  as  bloodless  as  his  ownv 

"  Wait !  "  she  panted,  "  there's  whisky  at  Zeke's  !  " 
and  she  sprang  across  the  mountain-side  and  van- 
ished among  the  thickets. 

He  bent  over  and  tore  down  his  stocking  ;  then 
his  head  whirled  and  he  sank  trembling  upon  the 
ground. 

As  he  lay  there  great  throbs  of  pain  swept 
through  him  in  waves,  succeeded  by  momentary 
numbness,  but  through  the  mist  of  faintness  and  the 


YO   ESPERO.  151 

delirium  of  pain  he  heard  the  dead  snake  thumping 
among  the  leaves.  Then  all  was  one  great  thrill  of 
agony,  but,  as  his  senses  reeled  again,  a  touch  fell 
upon  his  arm  and  he  heard  her  voice : 

"  Drink, — quickly — all — all  you  can  !  " 

And  he  did,  blindly,  guided  by  her  arm.  She 
held  the  demijohn  until  his  head  fell  back. 

Then  she  knelt,  ripped  her  own  sleeve  from  wrist 
to  shoulder  and  stared  at  her  round  white  arm. 
Two  blue  marks,  close  together,  capped  the  sum- 
mit of  a  terrible  swelling,  and  she  cried  out  once 
for  help.  With  all  the  strength  that  remained, 
she  dragged  the  demijohn  to  her  mouth  and 
stretched  out  on  the  ground,  the  crystal  clear  liquor 
running  between  her  teeth.  She  tried  hard  to 
swallow.  Once  she  murmured,  "  I  knew  there  was 
not  enough  for  both, — I  guess  there  isn't  much  left ; 
I  guess — it's — too  late — " 

After  a  minute  or  two  she  wandered  in  her  de- 
lirium, but  still  she  swallowed  desperately  until  the 
demijohn  rolled  away  from  her  nerveless  grasp,  and 
she  seemed  to  lose  consciousness.  With  the  last 
spark  of  understanding  left  in  her  numbed  brain,  she 
turned  over  and  stretched  out,  her  lips  crushed 
against  his  face. 

Zeke  found  them.  Whether  it  was  the  smell  of 
blockade  whisky,  coupled  with  the  absence  of  his 
demijohn,  or  whether  it  was  Providence,  cannot  be 
successfully  argued  here.  But  he  found  them,  and 
he  carried  them  into  his  ramshackle  cabin  and  laid 
them  side  by  side  across  his  mattress. 


152  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

After  he  had  looked  at  them  for  half  an  hour's 
absolute  silence,  he  spat  the  remains  of  a  hard- 
chewed  quid  into  a  corner,  picked  up  his  gun,  and 
wended  his  way  down  the  mountain-side  to  the 
Diamond  Springs  Hotel. 

Here  he  was  promptly  arrested  by  two  pale-faced 
Revenue  Officers,  and  here,  for  the  first  time,  he 
learned  that  Clyde,  the  tenant  of  Yo  Espero  on 
Painted  Mountain,  had  been  shot  dead,  two  hours 
before,  for  resisting  arrest  at  the  hands  of  United 
States  officers. 

The  hotel  was  in  commotion,  but  when  Zeke 
drawled  out  his  story,  panic  reigned  supreme,  and 
the  Beezeleys  started  in  a  body  for  Zeke's  hut. '  How 
they  got  lost  on  the  mountain  and  were  frightened 
by  snakes,  and  how  Dr.  Samuel  Meeke  headed  a 
rescue  party  in  their  behalf,  has  no  place  in  this 
story, — nor,  I  imagine,  in  any  story.  O'Hara  went 
on  Zeke's  bond,  and  Zeke,  followed  by  O'Hara  and 
the  proprietor  of  the  Diamond  Springs  Hotel, 
started  for  the  blockader's  burrow.  The  proprietor's 
name  was  Eph  Doom,  but,  unlike  his  namesake, 
nothing  about  him  was  sealed,  not  even  his  lips,  and 
he  chattered  continually  until  Zeke  drawled  out : 
"  O  shet  up,  yew  mewl  o'  misery !  " 

Once  O'Hara  spoke: 

"  You  left  them  both  lying  across  your  bed, 
Zeke?" 

'"  'Bout  a  foot  apart,"  drawled  Zeke. 

But  when  O'Hara  burst  into  the  cabin,  he  cried  : 


YO   ESPERO.  153 

"  Thank   God ! "     For   they  were    in    each    other's 
arms. 

****** 

And  that  is  all  there  is  to  say. 

Eph  Doom  recounts  a  great  deal  more;  he  tells 
how  those  two  striplings,  dazed  by  alcohol  and 
numbed  with  poison,  clung  together  blindly;  he 
tells  how  he,  personally,  drove  a  shoal  of  Beezeleys 
and  Meekes  and  Dills  from  the  door  of  the  cabin, 
and  he  relates  with  fire  how  young  Edgeworth  sat 
up,  pale,  trembling,  and  demanded  that  he,  Ephraim 
Doom,  should,  as  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  then  and 
there  instantly  unite  in  holy  wedlock  James  Edge- 
worth  and  Yo  Espero  Clyde :  which  he  did  not  do, 
because  O'Hara  whispered  :  "  Wait  till  he's  sober." 

How  Zeke  escaped  the  clutches  of  the  law  needs 
a  story  by  itself. 

How  Dr.  Samuel  Meeke  and  Mrs.  Dill— but  that 
is  scandal. 

How  Yo  Espero  and  Edgeworth  loved  is  all  that 
concerns  this  story. 


COLLECTOR  OF  THE  PORT 


'  Why  do  you  limp  ?'  asked  the  maid. 

'I  always  stumble  when  the  path  is  smooth,'  said  Love." 


COLLECTOR  OF  THE  PORT. 

I  will  grow  round  him  in  his  place, 
Grow,  live,  die  looking  on  his  face, 
Die,  dying  clasp'd  in  his  embrace. 

Tennyson. 

In  winter  the  Port  is  closed,  the  population 
migrates,  the  Collector  of  the  Port  sails  southward. 
There  is  nothing  left  but  black  rocks  sheathed  in  ice 
where  icy  seas  clash  and  splinter  and  white  squalls 
howl  across  the  headland.  When  the  wind  slackens 
and  the  inlet  freezes,  spotted  seals  swim  up  and 
down  the  ragged  edges  of  the  ice,  sleek  restless  heads 
raised,  mild  eyes  fixed  on  the  turbid  shallows. 

In  January,  blizzard-driven,  snowy  owls  whirl 
into  the  pines  and  sit  all  day  in  the  demi-twilight, 
the  white  ptarmigan  covers  the  softer  snow  with 
winding  tracks,  and  the  white  hare,  huddled  in  his 
whiter  "  form,"  plays  hide  and  seek  with  his  own 
shadow. 

In  February  the  Port-of-Waves  is  still  untenanted. 
A  few  marauders  appear,  now  and  then  a  steel  grey 
panther  from  the  north  frisking  over  the  snow  after 
the  white  hares,  now  and  then  a  stub-tailed  lynx, 
mean-faced,  famished,  snarling  up  at  the  white  owls 
who  look  down  and  snap  their  beaks  and  hiss. 

The  first  bud  on  the  Indian-willow  brings  the  first 
x57 


158  COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT. 

inhabitant  back  to  the  Port-of-Waves,  Francis  Lee, 
superintendent  of  the  mica  quarry.  The  quarry- 
men  follow  in  batches  ;  the  willow-tassels  see  them 
all  there  ;  the  wind-flowers  witness  the  defile  of  the 
first  shift  through  the  pines. 

On  the  last  day  of  May  the  company's  flag  was 
hoisted  on  the  tool-house,  the  French-Canadians 
came  down  to  repair  the  rusty  narrow-gauge  rail- 
road, and  Lee,  pipe  lighted,  sea-jacket  buttoned  to 
the  throat,  tramped  up  and  down  the  track  with  the 
lumber  detail,  chalking  and  condemning  sleepers, 
blazing  spruce  and  pine,  sounding  fish-plate  and  rail, 
and  shouting  at  intervals  until  the  washouts  were 
shored  up,  windfalls  hacked  through,  and  landslide 
and  boulder  no  longer  blocked  the  progress  of  the 
company's  sole  locomotive. 

The  first  of  June  brought  sunshine  and  black 
flies,  but  not  the  Collector  of  the  Port.  The  Cana- 
dians went  back  to  Sainte  Isole  across  the  line,  the 
white-throated  sparrows'  long  dreary  melody  broke 
out  in  the  clearing's  edge,  but  the  Collector  of  the 
Port  did  not  return. 

That  evening,  Lee,  smoking  his  pipe  on  the  head- 
land, looked  out  across  the  sunset-tinted  ocean  and 
saw  the  white  gulls  settling  on  the  shoals  and  the 
fish-hawks  soaring  overhead  with  the  red  sunglint 
on  their  wings.  The  smoke  of  a  moss  smudge  kept 
the  flies  away,  his  own  tobacco  smoke  drove  away 
care.  Incidentally  both  drove  Williams  away, — a 
mere  lad  in  baggy  blue-jeans,  smooth-faced,  clear- 
eyed,  with  sea-tan  on  wrist  and  cheek. 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  1 59 

"  How  did  you  cut  your  hand  ?  "  asked  Lee,  turn- 
ing his  head  as  Williams  moved  away. 

"  Mica,"  replied  Williams  briefly.  After  a  moment 
Williams  started  on  again. 

"  Come  back,"  said  Lee  ;  "  that  wasn't  what  I  had 
to  tell  you." 

He  sat  down  on  the  headland,  opened  a  jack-knife, 
and  scraped  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  Williams 
came  slowly  up  and  stood  a  few  paces  behind  his 
shoulder. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Lee. 

Williams  did  not  stir.  Lee  waited  a  moment, 
head  slightly  turned,  but  not  far  enough  for 
him  to  see  the  figure  motionless  behind  his  shoul- 
der. 

"  It's  none  of  my  business,"  began  Lee,  "  but  per- 
haps you  had  better  know  that  you  have  deceived 
nobody.  Finn  came  and  spoke  to  me  to-day.  Dyce 
knows  it,  Carrots  and  Lefty  Sawyer  know  it, — I 
should  have  known  it  myself  had  I  looked  at  you 
twice." 

The  June  wind  blowing  across  the  grass,carried  two 
white  butterflies  over  the  cliff.  Lee  watched  them 
struggle  back  to  land  again.  Williams  watched 
Lee. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  said  Lee,  after  a 
silence  ;  "  it  is  not  forbidden  for  women  to  work  in 
the  quarry — that  I  am  aware  of.  If  you  need 
work  and  prefer  that  sort,  and  if  you  perform  your 
work  properly,  I  shall  not  interfere  with  you.  And 
I'll  see  that  the  men  do  not." 


l6o  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Williams  stood  motionless  ;  the  smoke  from  the 
smudge  shifted  west,  then  south. 

"  But,"  continued  Lee,  "  I  must  enter  you  properly 
on  the  pay-roll ;  I  cannot  approve  of  this  mas- 
querade. Finn  will  see  you  in  the  morning;  it  is 
unnecessary  for  me  to  repeat  that  you  will  not  be 
disturbed." 

There  was  no  answer.  After  a  silence  Lee 
turned,  then  rose  to  his  feet.  Williams  was  weep- 
ing. 

Lee  had  never  noticed  her  face  ;  both  sun-tanned 
hands  hid  it  now  ;  her  felt  hat  was  pulled  down  over 
the  forehead. 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  the  quarry  ?"  he  asked 
soberly.     She  did  not  reply. 

"  It  is  men's  work,"  he  said  ;  "  look  at  your  hands  ! 
You  cannot  do  it." 

She  tightened  her  hands  over  her  eyes ;  tears 
stole  between  her  fingers  and  dropped,  one  by  one, 
on  the  young  grass. 

"  If  you  need  work — if  you  can  find  nothing  else 
— I — I  think  perhaps  I  may  manage  something 
better,"  he  said.  "  You  must  not  stand  there  cry- 
ing— listen  !  Here  come  Finn  and  Dyce,  and  I 
don't  want  them  to  talk  all  over  the  camp."  Finn 
and  Dyce  came  toiling  up  the  headland  with  news 
that  the  west  drain  was  choked.  They  glanced  as- 
kance at  Williams,  who  turned  her  back.  The  sea- 
wind  dried  her  eyes ;  it  stung  her  torn  hands  too. 
She  unconsciously  placed  one  aching  finger  in  her 
mouth  and  looked  out  to  sea. 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  l6l 

"  The  dreen's  bust  by  the  second  windfall,"  said 
Dyce,  with  a  jerk  of  his  stunted  thumb  toward  the 
forest.  "  If  them  sluice-props  caves  in,  the  timber's 
wasted." 

Finn  proposed  new  sluice  gates ;  Lee  objected, 
and  swore  roundly  that  if  the  damage  was  not  re- 
paired by  next  evening  he'd  hold  Finn  responsible. 
He  told  them  he  was  there  to  save  the  company's 
money,  not  to  experiment  with  it  ;  he  spoke  sharply 
to  Finn  of  last  year's  extravagance,  and  warned  him 
not  to  trifle  with  orders. 

"  I  pay  you  to  follow  my  directions,"  he  said. 
"  Do  so  and  I'll  be  responsible  to  the  company ;  dis- 
obey, and  I'll  hold  you  to  the  chalk-mark  every 
time." 

Finn  sullenly  shifted  his  quid  and  nodded  ;  Dyce 
looked  rebellious. 

"  You  might  as  well  know,"  continued  Lee,  "  that 
I  mean  what  I  say.  You'll  find  it  out.  Do  your 
work  and  we'll  get  on  without  trouble.  You'll  find 
I'm  just." 

When  Dyce  and  Finn  had  shuffled  away  toward 
the  coast,  Lee  looked  at  the  figure  outlined  on  the 
cliffs  against  the  sunset  sky, — a  desolate,  lonely 
little  figure  in  truth. 

"  Come,"  said  Lee  ;  "  if  you  must  have  work  I  will 
give  you  enough  to  keep  you  busy ;  not  in  the 
quarry  either, — do  you  want  to  cripple  yourself  in 
that  pit  ?  It 's  no  place  for  children  anyway.  Can 
you  write  properly?" 

The  girl  nodded,  back  turned  toward  him. 


l62  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Then  you  can  keep  the  rolls,  duplicates,  and  all. 
You'll  have  a  room  to  yourself  in  my  shanty.  I'll 
pay  quarry  wages." 

He  did  not  add  that  those  wages  must  come  out 
of  his  own  pocket.  The  company  allowed  him  no 
secretary,  and  he  was  too  sensitive  to  suggest  one. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  where  you  came  from  or  why 
you  are  here,"  he  said  a  little  roughly.  "  If  there 
is  gossip  I  cannot  help  it."  He  walked  to  the 
smudge  and  stood  in  the  smoke,  for  the  wind  had 
died  out  and  the  black  flies  were  active. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  hazarded,  "  you  would  like  to  go 
back  to — to  where  you  came  from  ?  I'll  send  you 
back." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  There  may  be  gossip  in  camp." 

The  slightest  movement  of  her  shoulders  indi- 
cated her  indifference.  Lee  re-lighted  his  pipe, 
poked  the  smudge,  and  piled  damp  moss  on  it. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  "  don't  be  unhappy  ;  I'll  do 
what  I  can  to  make  you  comfortable.  You  had 
better  come  into  the  smudge,  to  begin  with." 

She  came,  touching  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  awk- 
ward, hesitating.  He  looked  gravely  at  her  clumsy 
boots,  at  the  loose,  toil-stained  overalls. 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  he  said,  without  embar- 
rassment. 

"  My  name  is  Helen  Pine."  She  looked  up  at 
him  steadily ;  after  a  moment  she  repeated  her 
name  as  though  expecting  him  to  recognise  it.  He 
did  not ;  he  had  never  before  heard  it,  as  far  as  he 


COLLECTOR  OF  THE   PORT.  163 

knew.  Neither  did  he  find  in  her  eager,  wistful 
face  anything  familiar.  How  should  he  remember 
her?  Why  should  he  remember?  It  was  nearly 
six  months  ago  that,  snow-bound  in  the  little  village 
on  the  Mohawk,  he  and  the  directors  of  his  company 
left  their  private  Pullman  car  to  amuse  themselves 
at  a  country  dance.  How  should  he  recollect  the 
dark-eyed  girl  who  had  danced  the  "  fireman's  quad- 
rille "  with  him,  who  had  romped  through  a  reel  or 
two  with  him,  who  had  amused  him  through  a 
snowy  evening  ?  How  should  he  recall  the  careless 
country  incident, — the  corn  popping,  the  apple  race, 
the  flirtation  on  the  dark,  windy  stairway  ?  Who 
could  expect  him  to  remember  the  laughing  kiss,  the 
meaningless  promise  to  write,  the  promises  to  return 
some  day  for  another  dance,  and  kiss  ?  A  week  later 
he  had  forgotten  the  village,  forgotten  the  dance, 
the  pop-corn,  the  stairway,  and  the  kiss.  She  never 
forgot.  Had  he  told  her  he  loved  her?  He  forgot 
it  before  she  replied.  Had  he  amused  himself? 
Passably.  But  he  was  glad  that  the  snow-plows 
cleared  the  track  next  morning,  for  there  was  trouble 
in  Albany  and  lobbying  to  do,  and  a  rival  company 
was  moving  wheels  within  wheels  to  lubricate  the 
machinery  of  honest  legislation. 

So  it  meant  nothing  to  him,  this  episode  of  a  snow 
blockade  ;  it  meant  all  the  world  to  her.  For  months 
she  awaited  the  letter  that  never  came.  An  Albany 
journal  mentioned  his  name  and  profession.  She 
wrote  to  the  company  and  learned  where  the  quarry 
lay.     She  was  young  and  foolish  and  nearly  broken- 


164  THE  HAUNTS   OF  MEN. 

hearted,  so  she  ran  away.  Her  first  sentimental 
idea  was  to  work  herself  to  death,  disguised,  under 
his  very  eyes.  When  she  lay  dying  she  would  reveal 
herself  to  him,  and  he  should  know  too  late  the 
value  of  such  a  love.  To  this  end  she  purchased 
some  shears  to  cut  her  hair  with ;  but  the  mental 
picture  she  conjured  was  not  improved  by  such  a 
sacrifice.  She  re-coiled  her  hair  tightly  and  bought 
a  slouched  hat,   too  big. 

When,  arrived  at  the  quarry,  she  saw  him  again, 
she  nearly  fainted  from  fright.  He  met  her  twice, 
face  to  face,  and  she  was  astounded  that  he  did 
not  recognise  her.  Reflection,  however,  assured 
her  that  her  disguise  must  be  perfect,  and  she 
awaited  the  dramatic  moment  when  she  should 
reveal  herself— not  dying  from  quarry-toil — for 
she  did  not  wish  to  die  now  that  she  had  seen 
him.  No — she  would  live — live  to  prove  to  him 
how  a  woman  can  love — live  to  confound  him  with 
her  constancy.  She  had  read  many  romances. 
Now,  when  he  had  bade  her  follow  him  to  the  head- 
land, she  knew  she  had  been  discovered ;  she  was 
weak  with  terror  and  shame  and  hope.  She 
thought  he  knew  her  ;  when  he  spoke  so  coolly  she 
stood  dumb  with  amazement ;  when  he  spoke  of 
Finn  and  Sawyer  and  Dyce  she  understood  he  had 
not  penetrated  her  disguise,  except  from  hearsay, 
and  a  terror  of  loneliness  and  desolation  rushed  over 
her. 

Then  the  impulse  came  to  hide  her  identity 
from   him, — why,  she  did   not  know.     Again  that 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  16$ 

vanished  when  he  called  her  to  come  into  the  smoke. 
As  she  looked  up  at  him  her  heart  almost  stopped  ; 
yet  he  did  not  recognise  her.  Then  the  courage  of 
despair  seized  her  and  she  told  her  name.  When  at 
length  she  comprehended  that  he  had  entirely  for- 
gotten her — forgotten  her  very  name — fright  sealed 
her  lips.  All  the  hopelessness  and  horror  of  her  posi- 
tion dawned  upon  her, — all  she  had  believed,  ex- 
pected, prayed  for,  came  down  with  a  crash. 

As  they  stood  together  in  the  smoke  of  the 
smudge,  she  mechanically  laid  her  hand  on  his  sleeve, 
for  her  knees  scarcely  supported  her. 

"  What  is  it  ;  does  the  smoke  make  you  dizzy  ?  " 
he  asked. 

She  nodded  ;  he  aided  her  to  the  cliff's  edge  and 
seated  heron  a  boulder.  Under  the  cliff  the  sunset 
light  reddened  the  sea.  A  quarryman,  standing  on 
a  rock,  looked  up   at  Lee  and  pointed  seaward. 

"  Hello  !  "  answered  Lee,  "  what  is  it  ?  The  Col- 
lector of  the  Port  ?  " 

Other  quarrymen,  grouped  on  the  coast,  took  up 
the  cry ;  the  lumbermen,  returning  from  the  forest 
along  the  inlet,  paused,  axe  on  shoulder,  to  stare  at 
the  sea.  Presently,  out  in  the  calm  ocean,  a  black 
triangle  cut  the  surface,  dipped,  glided  landward, 
dipped,  glided,  disappeared.  Again  the  dark  point 
came  into  view,  now  close  under  the  cliff  where 
thirty  feet  of  limpid  water  bathed  its  base. 

"  The  Collector  of  the  Port  !  "  shouted  Finn  from 
the  rocks. 

Lee  bent  over  the  cliff's  brink.     Far  down  into  the 


l66  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

clear  water  he  followed  the  outline  of  the  cliff. 
Under  it  a  shadowy  shape  floated,  a  monstrous 
shark,  rubbing  the  rock  softly  as  if  in  greeting  for 
old  acquaintance*  sake. 

The  Collector  of  the  Port  had  returned  from  the 
south. 

II. 

The  Collector  of  the  Port  and  the  company  were 
rivals  ;  both  killed  their  men,  one  at  sea,  the  other 
in  the  quarry.  The  company  objected  to  pelagic 
slaughter  and  sent  some  men  with  harpoons,  bombs, 
and  shark-hooks  to  the  Port ;  but  the  Collector 
sheered  off  to  sea  and  waited  for  them  to  go  away. 

The  company  could  not  keep  the  quarrymen 
from  bathing ;  Lee  could  not  keep  the  Collector 
from  Port-of-Waves.  Every  year  two  or  three 
quarrymen  fell  to  his  share  ;  the  company  killed 
the  even  half-dozen.  Years  before,  the  quarrymen 
had  named  the  shark  ;  the  name  fascinated  every- 
body with  its  sinister  conventionality.  In  truth  he 
was  Collector  of  the  Port, — an  official  who  took  toll 
of  all  who  ventured  from  this  Port  where  nothing 
entered  from  the  sea  save  the  sea  itself,  wave  on 
wave,  wave  after  wave. 

In  the  superintendent's  office  there  were  two 
rolls  of  victims, — victims  of  the  quarry  and  victims 
of  the  Collector  of  the  Port.  Pensions  were  not 
allowed  to  families  of  the  latter  class,  so,  as  Dyce 
said  to  Dyce's  dying  brother :  "  Thank  God  you 
was  blowed  up,  an*  say  no  more  about  it,  Hank." 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  1 67 

There  was,  curiously  enough,  little  animosity 
against  the  Collector  of  the  Port  among  the  quarry- 
men.  When  June  brought  the  great  shark  back  to 
the  Port  they  welcomed  him  with  sticks  of  dyna- 
mite, but  nevertheless  a  sense  of  proprietorship,  of 
exclusive  right  to  the  biggest  shark  on  the  coast, 
aroused  in  the  quarrymen  a  sentiment  akin  to  pride. 
Between  the  shark  and  the  men  existed  an  uncanny 
comradeship,  curiously  in  evidence  when  the  com- 
pany's imported  shark-destroyers  appeared  at  the 
Port. 

"  G'wan  now,"  observed  Farrely,  "an'  divil  a 
shark  ye'll  get  in  the  wather,  me  bucks !  Is  it 
sharks  ye'll  harpoon  ?  Sure  th'  company's  full  o* 
thim." 

The  shark-catchers,  harpoons,  bombs,  and  hooks, 
retired  after  a  month's  useless  worrying,  and  the 
men  jeered  them  as  they  embarked  on  the  gravel 
train. 

"  Drhop  a  dynamite  shtick  on  the  nob  av  his 
nibs!"  shouted  Farrely  after  them — meaning  the 
president  of  the  company.  The  next  day,  little 
Csesar  l'Hommedieu,  indulging  in  his  semi-annual 
bath,  was  appreciated  and  accepted  by  the  Collector 
of  the  Port,  and  his  name  was  added  to  the  un- 
pensioned  roll  in  the  office  of  the  company's  super- 
intendent, Francis  Lee. 

Helen  Pine,  sitting  alone  in  her  room,  copied  the 
roll,  erased  little  Caesar's  name  from  the  pay-roll, 
computed  the  total  back  pay  due  him,  and  made 
out   an  order  on  the  company  for  $20.39.     Then 


1 68  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

she  rose,  stepped  quietly  into  Lee's  office  which  ad- 
joined her  own  room,  and  silently  handed  him  the 
order. 

Lee  was  busy  and  motioned  her  to  be  seated. 
Dyce  and  Finn,  hats  in  hand,  looked  obliquely  at 
her  as  she  leaned  on  the  window-ledge,  face  turned 
toward  the  sea.  She  heard  Lee  say,  "  Go  on,  Finn  ;  " 
and  Finn  began  again  in  his  smooth  plausible  voice  : 

"  I  opened  the  safe  on  a  flat-car,  an'  God  knows 
who  uncoupled  the  flat.  Then  Dyce  signalled  go 
ahead,  but  Henderson  he  sez  Dyce  signalled  to  back 
her  up,  an'  the  first  I  see  was  that  flat  hangin'  over 
the  dump-dock.  Then  she  tipped  up  like  a  seesaw 
an'  slid  the  safe  into  the  water — fifty-eight  feet 
sheer  at  low  tide." 

Lee  said  quietly  :  "  Rig  a  derrick  on  the  dump- 
dock,  and  tell  Kinny  to  get  his  diving  kit  ready  by 
three  o'clock." 

Finn  and  Dyce  exchanged  glances. 

"  Kinny  he  went  to  Bangor  last  night  to  see 
about  them  new  drills,"  said  Finn  defiantly. 

"  Who  sent  him  ?  "  asked  Lee  angrily.  "  Oh,  you 
did,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  wanted  them  drills,"  repeated 
Finn. 

Lee's  eyes  turned  from  Finn  to  Dyce.  There 
was,  in  the  sullen  faces  before  him,  something  that 
he  had  never  before  seen,  something  worse  than 
sinister.  The  next  moment  he  said  pleasantly  : 
"  Well  then,  tell  Lefty  Sawyer  to  take  his  diving 
kit  and  be  ready  by  three.     If  you  need  a  new  lad- 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  169 

der  at  the  dump-dock  send  one  there  by  noon. 
That  is  all,  men." 

When  Finn  and  Dyce  had  gone,  Lee  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  began  to  pace  the  office.  Once  he 
stopped  to  light  his  pipe  ;  once  he  jerked  open  the  top 
drawer  of  his  table  and  glanced  at  a  pair  of  heavy 
Colt's  revolvers  lying  there,  cocked  and  loaded. 
He  sat  down  at  his  desk  after  a  while  and  spoke, 
perhaps  half  unconsciously,  to  Helen,  as  though  he 
had  been  speaking  to  her  since  Finn  and  Dyce 
left: 

"  They're  a  hard  crowd — a  tough  lot — and  I  knew 
it  would  come  to  a  crisis  sooner  or  later.  Last 
year  they  drove  the  other  superintendent  to  resign, 
and  I  was  warned  to  look  out  for  myself.  Now 
they  see  that  they  can't  use  me,  and  they  mean  to 
get  rid  of  me." 

She  turned  from  the  window  as  he  finished  ;  he 
looked  at  her  without  seeing  the  oval  face,  the  dark 
questioning  eyes,  the  young  rounded  figure  invol- 
untarily bending  toward  him. 

"They  tipped  that  safe  off  the  dock  on  purpose," 
he  said  ;  "  they  sent  Kinny  to  Bangor  on  a  fool's 
errand.  Now  Sawyer's  got  to  go  down  and  see 
what  can  be  done.  I  know  what  he'll  say ! — 
He'll  report  the  safe  broken  and  one  or  two  cash 
boxes  missing,  and  he'll  bring  up  the  rest  and  wait 
for  a  chance  to  divide  with  his  gang." 

He  started  to  his  feet  and  began  to  pace  the  floor 
again,  talking  all  the  while  : 

"  It's  come  to  a  crisis  now,  and    I'm  not  going 


170  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

under  !  I'll  face  them  down  ;  I'll  break  that  gang 
as  they  break  stone  !  If  I  only  knew  how  to  use  a 
diving  kit — and  if  I  dared — with  Dyce  at  the  life- 
line—" 

Half  an  hour  later  Lee,  seated  at  his  desk,  raised 
his  pale  face  from  his  hands  and,  for  the  first  time, 
became  conscious  that  Helen  sat  watching  him 
beside  the  window. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  he  asked  pleas- 
antly. 

She  held  the  order  out  to  him  ;  he  took  it,  ex- 
amined it,  and,  picking  up  a  pen,   signed  his  name. 

"  Forward  it  to  the  company,"  he  said  ;  "  Caesar's 
family  will  collect  it  quicker  than  the  shark  col- 
lected Caesar." 

He  did  not  mean  to  shock  the  girl  with  cynicism  ; 
indeed  it  was  only  such  artificial  indifference  that 
enabled  him  to  endure  the  misery  of  the  Port-of- 
Waves, — misery  that  came  under  his  eyes  from  sea 
and  land, — interminable  hopeless  human  woe. 

What  could  he  do  for  the  lacerated  creatures  at 
the  quarry?  He  had  only  his  salary.  What  could 
he  do  for  families  made  destitute?  The  mica 
crushed  and  cut  and  blinded ;  the  Collector  of  the 
Port  exacted  bloody  toll  in  spite  of  him.  He  could 
not  drive  the  dust-choked,  half-maddened  quarry- 
men  from  their  one  solace  and  balm,  the  cool,  heal- 
ing ocean ;  he  could  not  drive  the  Collector  from 
the  Port-of- Waves. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  speak  unfeelingly,"  he  said. 
"  I  feel  such  things  very  deeply." 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  171 

To  his  surprise  and  displeasure  she  replied:  "I 
did  not  know  you  felt  anything." 

She  grew  red  after  she  said  it ;  he  stared  at  her. 

"  Do  you  regard  me  as  brutal?  "  he  asked  sarcas- 
tically. 

"  No,"  she  said,  steadying  her  voice :  "  you  are 
not  brutal;  one  must  be  human  to   be  brutal." 

He  looked  at  her  half  angrily,  half  inclined  to 
laugh. 

"You  mean  I  am  devoid  of  human  feeling?" 

"  I  am  not  here  to  criticise  my  employer,"  she 
answered  faintly. 

11  Oh — but  you  have." 

She  was  silent. 

"  You  said  you  were  not  aware  that  I  felt  any- 
thing." 

She  did  not  reply. 

He  thought  to  himself:  "I  took  her  from  the 
quarry,  and  this  is  what  I  get."  She  divined  his 
thought.  She  could  have  answered :  "  And  you 
sent  me  to  the  quarry — for  the  memory  of  a  kiss." 
But  she  did  not  speak. 

Watching  her  curiously,  he  noticed  the  gray 
woollen  gown,  the  spotless  collar  and  cuffs,  the  light 
on  her  hair,  like  light  on  watered  silk.  Her  young 
face  was  turned  toward  the  window.  For  the  first 
time  it  occurred  to  him  that  she  might  be  lonely. 
He  wondered  where  she  came  from,  why  she  had 
sought  Port-of-Waves  among  all  places  on  earth, 
what  tragedy  could  have  driven  her  from  kin  and 
kind  to  the  haunts  of  men.     She  seemed  so  utterly 


I72  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

alone,  so  hopelessly  dependent,  so  young  that  his 
conscience  smote  him,  and  he  resolved  to  be  a  little 
companionable  toward  her,  as  far  as  his  position  of 
superintendent  permitted.  True,  he  could  not  do 
much  ;  and  whatever  he  might  do  would  perhaps 
be  misinterpreted  by  her,  certainly  by  the  quarry- 
men. 

"  A  safe  fell  off  the  dock,  to-day,"  he  said  pleas- 
antly, forgetting  she  had  been  present  at  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  disaster  by  Finn  and  Dyce. 
"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  diver  go  down?" 

She  turned  toward  him  and  smiled. 

"It  might  interest  you,"  he  went  on,  surprised  at 
the  beauty  of  her  eyes  ;  "  we're  going  to  try  to  hoist 
the  safe  out  of  fifty  odd  feet  of  water — unless  it  is 
smashed  on  the  rocks.  Come  down  when  I  go  at 
three  o'clock." 

As  he  spoke  his  face  grew  grave,  and  he  glanced 
at  the  open  drawer  by  his  elbow,  where  two  blue 
revolver  barrels  lay  shining  in  the  morning  light. 

At  noon  she  went  into  her  little  room,  locked  the 
door,  and  sat  down  on  the  bed.  She  cried  steadily 
till  two  o'clock  ;  from  two  until  three  she  spent  the 
time  in  obliterating  all  traces  of  tears;  at  three  he 
knocked  at  her  door,  and  she  opened  the  door,  fresh, 
dainty,  smiling,  and  joined  him,  tying  the  strings  of 
a  pink  sun-bonnet  under  her  oval  chin. 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  173 


III. 

The  afternoon  sun  beat  down  on  the  dump-dock 
where  the  derrick  swung  like  a  stumpy  gallows 
against  the  sky.  A  dozen  hard-faced,  silent  quarry- 
men  sat  around  in  groups  on  the  string-pieces  ;  Far- 
rely  raked  out  the  fire  in  the  rusty  little  engine  ;  Finn 
and  Dyce  whispered  together,  glowering  at  Lefty 
Sawyer,  who  stood  dripping  in  his  diving  suit  while 
Lee  unscrewed  the  helmet  and  disentangled  the  lines. 

Behind  Lee,  Helen  Pine  sat  on  a  pile  of  con- 
demned sleepers,  nervously  twisting  and  untwisting 
the  strings  of  her  sun-bonnet. 

When  Sawyer  was  able  to  hear  and  be  heard,  Lee 
listened,  tight-lipped  and  hard  eyed,  to  a  report  that 
brought  a  malicious  sneer  to  Finn's  face  and  a  twin- 
kle of  triumph  into  Dyce's  dissipated  eyes. 

"  The  safe  is  smashed  an'  the  door  open.  Them 
there  eight  cash-boxes  is  all  that  I  see."  He  pointed 
to  the  pile  of  steel  boxes,  still  glistening  with 
salt  water,  and  already  streaked  and  blotched  with 
orange  colored  rust. 

"  There  are  ten  boxes,"  said  Lee  coldly  ;  "  go  down 
again." 

Unwillingly,  sullenly,  Lefty  Sawyer  suffered  him- 
self to  be  invested  with  the  heavy  helmet  ;  the  lines 
and  tubes  were  adjusted,  Dyce  superintended  the 
descent  and  Finn  seized  the  signal  cord.     After  a 


174  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

minute  it  twitched  ;  Lee  grew  white  with  anger ; 
Dyce  turned  away  to  conceal  a  grin. 

When  again  Sawyer  stood  on  the  dock  and  re- 
ported that  the  two  cash-boxes  were  hopelessly 
engulfed  in  the  mud,  Lee  sternly  bade  him  divest 
himself  of  the  diving  suit. 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do  ?  "  said  Finn,  coming  up. 

"Is  it  your  place  to  ask  questions?"  said  Lee 
sharply.     "  Obey  orders  or  you'll  regret  it !  " 

"  He's  going  down  himself,"  whispered  Dyce  to 
Sawyer.  The  diver  cast  a  savage  glance  at  Lee  and 
hesitated. 

"  Take  off  that  suit,"  repeated  Lee. 

Finn,  scowling  with  anger,  attempted  to  speak, 
but  Lee  turned  on  him  and  bade  him  be  silent. 

Slowly  Sawyer  divested  himself  of  the  clumsy 
diving  suit ;  one  after  the  other  he  pushed  the  leaden 
soled  shoes  from  him. 

Lee  watched  him  with  mixed  emotions.  He  had 
gone  too  far  to  go  back  now — he  understood  that. 
Flinching  at  such  a  moment  meant  chaos  in  the 
quarry,  and  he  knew  that  the  last  shred  of  his 
authority  and  control  would  go  if  he  hesitated. 
Yet,  with  all  his  heart  and  soul  he  shrank  from  going 
down  into  the  sea.  What  might  not  such  men  do? 
Dyce  held  the  life-line.  A  moment  or  two  suffoca- 
tion— would  such  men  hesitate?  Accidents  are  so 
easy  to  prove  and  signals  may  be  easily  misunder- 
stood. He  laid  a  brace  of  heavy  revolvers  on  the 
dock. 

As  Dyce  lifted  the  helmet  upon  his  shoulders,  he 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  1 75 

caught  a  last  glimpse  of  sunlight  and  blue  sky  and 
green  leaves — a  brief  vision  of  dark,  brutal  faces — of 
Helen  Pine's  frightened  eyes.  Then  he  felt  him- 
self on  the  dock  ladder,  then  a  thousand  tons  seemed 
to  fall  from  his  feet  and  the  dusky  ocean  enveloped 
him. 

On  the  dump-dock  silence  reigned.  After  a  mo- 
ment or  two  Finn  whispered  to  Sawyer  ;  Dyce  joined 
the  group  ;  Farrely  whitened  a  bit  under  his  brick- 
red  sunburn  and  pretended  to  fuss  at  his  engine. 

Helen  Pine,  heart  beating  furiously,  watched  them. 
She  did  not  know  what  they  were  going  to  do — 
what  they  were  doing  now  with  the  air  tubes.  She 
did  not  understand  such  things,  but  she  saw  a  line 
suddenly  twitch  in  Dyce's  fingers,  and  she  saw  mur- 
der in  Finn's  eyes. 

Before  she  knew  what  she  was  doing  she  found 
herself  clutching  both  of  Lee's  revolvers. 

Finn  saw  her  and  stood  petrified  ;  Dyce  gaped  at 
the  level  muzzles.     Nobody  moved. 

After  a  little  while  Dyce's  right  hand  twitched 
violently.  Finn  started  and  swore  ;  Sawyer  said 
distinctly  ;  "  Cut  that  line!  " 

The  next  instant  she  fired  at  him  point-blank,  and 
he  dropped  to  the  bleached  boards  with  a  howl  of 
dismay.  The  crack  of  the  revolver  echoed  and 
echoed  among  the  rocks.  Presently,  behind  his 
engine,  Farrely  began  to  laugh  ;  two  quarrymen 
near  him  got  up  and  shambled  hastily  away. 

"  Draw  him  up  !  "  gasped  the  girl  with  a  desperate 
glance  at  the  water. 


176  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Finn,  the  foreman,  cursed  and  flung  down  his  lines 
and  walked  away,  cursing. 

"  Take  the  lines,  Noonan,"  she  cried  breathlessly  ; 
'  Dyce,  pull  him  up  !  " 

The  great  blank-eyed  helmet  appeared  ;  she 
watched  it  as  though  hypnotised.  When,  dragging 
his  leaden  feet,  Lee  stumbled  to  the  dock  and  flung 
one  of  the  two  missing  cash-boxes  at  Dyce's  feet, 
she  grew  dizzy  and  her  little  hands  ached  with  their 
grip  on  the  heavy  weapons. 

Sawyer,  stupid,  clutching  his  shattered  fore-arm, 
never  removed  his  eyes  from  her  face  ;  Dyce  un- 
screwed the  helmet,  shaking  with  fright. 

"  There,  you  lying  blackguard  !  "  panted  Lee, 
pointing  to  the  recovered  cash-box,  "  take  them  all 
to  my  office  where  I'll  settle  with  you  once  and  for 
all!  " 

Nobody  replied.  Lee,  flushed  with  excitement 
and  triumph,  stripped  off  his  diving-dress  before  he 
became  aware  that  something  beside  his  own  episode 
had  occurred.  Then  he  saw  Lefty  Sawyer,  bedab- 
bled with  blood,  staring  with  sick,  surprised  eyes  at 
somebody — a  woman, — who  sat  huddled  on  a  heap 
of  sun-dried  sleepers,  sun-bonnet  fallen  back,  cocked 
revolver  in  either  hand,  and,  in  her  dark  eyes,  tears 
that  flowed  silently  over  colourless  cheeks. 

Lee  glared  at  Dyce. 

"Ask  her"  muttered  Dyce  doggedly. 

He  turned  toward  Helen,  but  Farrely,  behind  his 
engine,  shouted:  "  Faith,  she  stood  off  th'  gang  or 
the  breathin'   below  wud  ha*  choked  ye  !     Thank 


COLLECTOR   OF   THE   PORT.  177 

the  lass,  lad,  an'  mind  she's  a  gun  whin  ye  go  wor- 
ritin'  the  fishes  for  the  coompany's  cash-box  !  " 

That  night  Lee  made  a  speech  at  the  quarry. 
The  men  listened  placidly.  Dyce,  amazed  that  he 
was  not  discharged,  went  back  to  nurse  Sawyer,  a 
thoroughly  cowed  man.  Noonan,  Farrely,  and 
Phelan,  retired  to  their  shanty  and  got  fighting 
drunk  to  the  health  of  the  "  colleen  wid  the  gun  ;  " 
the  rest  of  the  men  went  away  with  wholesome  con- 
victions concerning  their  superintendent  that  prom- 
ised better  things. 

"  Didn't  shanghai  Dyce, — no  he  didn't,"  was  the 
whispered  comment. 

Lee's  policy  had  done  its  work. 

As  for  the  murderous  mover  of  the  plot,  the  plausi- 
ble foreman,  Finn,  he  had  shown  the  white  feather 
under  fire  and  he  knew  the  men  might  kill  him  on 
sight.  It's  an  Irish  characteristic  under  such  cir- 
cumstances. 

Lee  walked  back  from  the  quarry,  realising  his 
triumph,  recognising  that  he  owed  it  neither  to  his 
foolhardy  impulse,  nor  yet  to  his  mercy  to  Dyce 
and  Sawyer.  He  went  to  the  house  and  knocked 
at  Helen's  door.  She  was  not  there.  He  sat  alone 
in  his  office,  absently  playing  with  pen  and  ruler 
until  the  June  moon  rose  over  the  ocean  and  yellow 
sparkles  flashed  among  the  waves.  An  hour  later 
he  went  to  the  dock  and  found  her  sitting  there 
alone  in  the  moonlight. 

She  did  not  repulse  him.  Her  hour  had  come 
23 


178  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

and  she  knew  it,  for  she  had  read  such  things  in 
romances.  It  came.  But  she  was  too  much  in 
love,  too  sincere  to  use  a  setting  so  dramatic.  She 
told  him  she  loved  him  ;  she  told  him  why  she  had 
come  to  the  Port-of-Waves,  why  she  had  remem- 
bered the  kiss  and  the  promise.  She  rested  her  head 
on  his  shoulder  and  looked  out  at  the  moon,  smaller 
and  more  silvery  now.     She  was  contented. 

Under  the  dock  the  dark  waves  lapped  musically. 
Under  the  dock  Finn,  stripped  to  the  skin,  plunged 
silently  downward  for  the  one  missing  cash-box, 
trusting  to  his  sense  of  touch  to  find  the  safe. 

But  what  he  found  was  too  horrible  for  words. 

"  Hark,"  whispered  Helen  ;  "  did  you  hear  some- 
thing splash?  " 

Lee  looked  out  into  the  moonlight ;  a  shadow,  a 
black  triangular  point  cut  the  silvery  surface,  steered 
hither  and  thither, — circled,  sheered  seaward,  and 
was  lost.  Then  came  another  splash,  far  out  among 
the  waves. 

"  The  Collector  of  the  Port,"  said  Lee ;  "  is 
making  merry  in  the  moonlight." 


THE  WHISPER 


/'  bruinait.  .  .  .  V temps  itait  gris, 
On  rivoyait  pas  Fael .  .  .  V  atmosphere 
Semblant  sner  au-d'ssus  d^la  ville, 
Tombait  en  bui  su1  la  terre. 

"Fantaisie  Triste." 


THE  WHISPER. 

As  I  entered  the  alley  the  bells  of  the  dim  city 
tolled  for  the  passing  night.  Far  in  the  black  maze 
of  filthy  lanes  and  mist-choked  streets  a  policeman 
whistled ;  I  heard  the  distant  din  of  an  Elevated 
train,  rushing  through  the  fog,  nearer,  nearer,  duller 
now,  now  smothered  in  the  vapour  which  rolled  from 
river  to  river,  thick,  heavy,  stifling. 

In  the  gloom  of  the  alley  a  shadowy  form  loomed 
up  and  passed,  leaving  no  sound  of  footsteps  in  my 
ears,  but  all  around  me  the  vapour  became  faintly 
tainted  with  opium  and  a  flare  of  yellow  light 
streamed  out  across  the  fog  from  an  opening  door. 
There  was  a  momentary  murmur  of  voices,  the  soft 
shuffle  of  felt-shod  feet,  the  rustle  of  silken  sleeves. 
A  painted  paper  lantern  swung  from  the  doorway, 
dipped,  and  disappeared.  I  heard  the  deadened 
slam  of  the  door  and  the  black  night  veiled  my  eyes 
again. 

An  empty  truck,  with  broken  shafts  buried  in  the 
mud  of  the  gutter,  blocked  the  sidewalk,  and  I  crossed 
the  greasy  pavement  to  avoid  it. 

Around  the  pale  flame  of  a  gas  lamp  the  fog  spun 
an  iridescent  oval ;  the  wet  sidewalk  glimmered  un- 

181 


1 82  THE   HAUNTS    OF   MEN. 

derneath.  Far  down  the  reeking  throat  of  the  alley 
an  arc-light  shone  like  a  grey  star. 

I  raised  my  eyes  to  the  dark  house  before  me 
where  from  a  rusting  balcony  a  sign  hung  low  above 
the  doorway. 

"  This  was  her  house,"  I  said  aloud  to  myself ; 
but  I  passed  on  to  the  next  house.  Here  I  paused 
a  moment,  looking  back  at  the  bamboo  sign  drip- 
ping with  fog,  then  turned  and  descended  some 
wooden  steps  to  an  iron  door.  Before  I  could  find 
the  handle,  wrought  in  bronze  like  a  dragon's  claw, 
the  door  flew  open  and  I  heard  McManus'  angry 
bellow ;  "  Git  t'  hell  outer  here,  yer  dope  suckin' 
yap!"  and  a  Chinaman  was  hustled  into  the  area 
beside  me. 

"  Chin  chin  thlough  hattee  !  "  snarled  the  China- 
man, "  walkee  where  dlam  please  !  " 

"  I'll  walkee  you  on  yer  neck  !  "  growled  McManus, 
and  kicked  the  Chinaman  half  way  up  the  steps. 

"  Dlam  !  Dlam  !  Dlam  !  "  screamed  the  China- 
man, dancing  with  rage,  but  Charley,  the  bouncer, 
burst  out  of  the  door,  and  the  Chinaman  fled  chat- 
tering like  an  infuriated  ape. 

I  stepped  into  the  low-ceilinged  room  and  took  a 
chair  at  a  cherry-wood  table  beside  the  wall.  Two 
young  men  sitting  there  said,  "  Hello,  Jim  !  " 

"  Good  evenin',"  said  McManus,  leaning  over  the 
bar,  "  did  you  see  me  givin'  de  bounce  to  Wah-Wo  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  when  did  he  come  back  ?  " 

"  He  jest  come  in.  I  told  him  to  git  an'  he  give 
me  de  ha-ha,   so   Charley  trun  him  down.     What 


THE   WHISPER.  1 83 

t'hell,  sez  I,  an'  he  gives  me  back  talk  !  Say,  I  won't 
do  a  t'ing  to  him  !  " 

One  of  the  young  men  at  the  table  beside  me 
looked  up  from  the  Welsh-rabbit  he  was  eating  and 
called  for  ale.  McManus  brought  it  himself,  a  brim- 
ming pewter  mug,  and  wiped  his  hands  on  his  blue 
apron.  Then  he  bawled  for  Charley  to  take  my 
order. 

"  Sure,"  said  Charley  coming  in  from  the  street 
where  he  had  been  patiently  waiting  for  a  scrap, 
and  he  leaned  with  both  fists  on  the  table  and 
winked  pleasantly  at  the  company.  Lynde,  of  the 
"  Herald,"  advised  me  to  try  a  rabbit,  and  Penlow, 
of  the  "  Tribune,"  spoke  well  of  the  chops,  so  I  left 
it  to  Charley  and  he  retired  to  the  grill,  whistling, 
"Oh  I  don't  know!" 

"  It's  a  wonder  to  me,"  I  said,  hanging  my  wet 
mackintosh  on  a  peg  and  kicking  off  my  overshoes, 
"  it's  a  wonder  to  me  that  Wah-Wo  was  dis- 
charged." 

"  There  was  no  evidence  to  hold  him,"  observed 
Lynde  after  a  moment's  silence. 

Penlow  lighted  his  pipe  and  rattled  his  mug  on 
the  table. 

"  No  evidence,"  I  repeated  ;  "  do  you  fellows 
doubt  that  Wah-Wo  did  it  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  did,"  said  Penlow,  "  it  was  my 
scoop  too." 

"We  may  scoop  yet,"  said  Lynde,  "the  man's 
bound  to  be  caught.  What  did  they  do  with  that 
young  tough  from  Hell's  Kitchen  ?  " 


184  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Sheehan?  Oh,  his  alibi  is  good,"  said  Penlow. 
"  Mac,  fill  her  up  will  you?" 

McManus  replenished  the  pewter  and  stood  for  a 
moment  beside  us  as  if  undecided. 

"  Gents,"  began  McManus,  "  youse  is  dead  off — 
excuse  me."  He  shifted  his  toothpick  and  rubbed 
his  thumb  on  the  polished  bar. 

"  Wah-Wo  ain't  in  it,"  he  said  contemptuously : 
"  I  give  him  de  t'row-down, — fur  why  ? — fur  because 
I  don't  give  de  glad  hand  to  no  dope  suckin'  come-on 
— an*  he's  dopy.  But  he  didn't  do  no  dirt  to  the  gal 
whut  youse  gents  was  stuck  on — he  ain't  that  kind  ' 
He  give  me  the  laugh  an'  I  t'rowed  him  down, 
see  ?  An'  I  won't  do  a  t'ing  but  push  his  face  in. 
See  ?  " 

"  But,"  said  Penlow,  "  her  dog  flew  at  him  when 
he  went  to  the  house.  Kerrigan,  you  know — '  Happy 
Days  Mike' — said  that  Wah-Wo  tried  to  cut  a  girl 
in  Doyers  Street." 

"  Nit !  I  don't  think,"  said  McManus  scornfully  : 
"  Kerrigan's  a  stuff — " 

"Well,  Mac,"  said  Lynde,  "what's  your  theory? 
You  know  as  much  about  it  as  anybody.  The  girl 
came  in  here  every  night,  didn't  she?  People  say 
that  she  lived  alone,  but  of  course  she  had  company 
when  she  wanted  it.     What's  your  idea,  Mac  ?  " 

McManus  looked  out  of  the  window  and  drummed 
on  the  bar  with  the  blade  of  his  oyster  knife. 
Charley,  clad  in  a  blue  checked  jumper,  arrived  with 
some  chops  and  ale.  I  unfolded  my  napkin  and  be- 
gan my  supper. 


THE   WHISPER.  185 

For  a  while  I  ate  in  silence,  thinking  of  Wah-Wo 
and  the  dead  girl. 

Caithness  of  the  Consolidated  Press  came  in  look- 
ing cold  and  ill,  and  we  hastily  made  room  for  him 
at  our  table. 

"  You're  sick,"  said  Lynde  sharply,  "  you  ought 
to  be  in  bed." 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  Caithness,  glancing  at  us 
with  his  large  dark  eyes :  "  Mac,  get  me  something 
hot." 

I  swallowed  my  ale  and  turned  again  to  the 
chops,  scarcely  listening  to  the  hum  of  voices 
beside  me,  for  I  was  thinking  again  of  the  dead 
girl. 

I  had  no  doubt  that  Wah-Wo  had  killed  her. 
Again  and  again  I  had  seen  his  eyes  fastened  upon 
her  as  she  sat  chatting  with  us,  here  at  this  very 
table.  The  motive  was  clear  to  me.  I  had  spoken 
of  this  to  the  others  but  they  laughed  at  me.  The 
District  Attorney  took  no  stock  in  it,  either  ;  the 
result  was  the  discharge  of  Wah-Wo. 

How  could  anybody  but  a  Chinaman,  crazed  with 
jealousy  and  opium,  harm  the  child  ?  For  she  was 
a  mere  child,  this  pallid  victim  whose  soul  had 
mounted  to  the  Judgment  seat  from  the  filth  of 
Chinatown. 

Pale,  slim,  childish,  depraved,  she  had  never 
haunted  Chinese  resorts  nor,  to  my  knowledge,  had 
she  ever  touched  needle  to  flame.  She  had  shunned 
the  women  of  the  quarter.  I  seldom  saw  her  speak 
to   any  man  except  the  reporters   and    newspaper 


1 86  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

artists  who  came  to  McManus's  for  a  midnight  chop 
or  rarebit. 

Her  acquaintance  with  us  had  been  open  and 
guileless.  She  chatted  with  us  about  our  business, 
discussed  the  latest  police  shake-up  or  the  newest 
Tammany  scandal,  gave  us  her  views  on  politics  and 
the  City  Hall,  and  glided  away  into  the  street 
again  followed  by  her  dog.  Her  dog !  A  great 
hulking  brute,  black  as  night,  with  sombre  eyes  and 
low  hanging  jowl, — a  creature  silent,  unmoved  ex- 
cept when  she  bent  her  pale  face  to  his  ear  and  whis- 
pered. Then  and  then  only  he  would  rise,  shuffling 
from  the  sawdust  floor  under  the  bar,  and  stalk  after 
her  into  the  night. 

He  never  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  us. 
Calls,  caresses,  threats,  left  him  unmoved. 

"  What  is  it  you  whisper  into  his  ear,  Lil  ?  "  we 
often  asked,  but  she  would  only  smile  and  answer: 
"  His  name." 

And  so,  as  none  of  us  knew  his  name,  we  called 
him  simply,  "  her  dog." 

It  had  been  two  months  now  since  Lil  was  found 
on  her  bed  with  a  bullet  in  her  heart  and  the  dog 
lying  stolidly  across  her  bare  little  feet.  And  after 
we  had  clubbed  together  and  buried  her,  we  were 
kinder  to  her  dog. 

Every  night  he  came  gravely  into  McManus'  to 
lie  down  under  the  bar  just  as  he  had  done  when 
Lil  sat  there  chatting  with  us. 

At  first  McManus  was  afraid  that  the  dog  would 
"hoodoo  the  place,"  but  he  left  the  silent  brute  un- 


THE   WHISPER.  1 87 

disturbed,  and,  after  a  while,  began  to  grow  fond 
of  it. 

"That  dog  ain't  no  mutt,"  McManus  would  say 
as  he  stood  behind  the  bar  opening  oysters  ;  "  no 
an'  he  ain't  no  rube  !  Say !  he's  in  it  all  the  time 
when  Charley  trims  the  steaks." 

As  I  sat  thinking  of  all  these  things  and  sipping 
my  ale  meditatively,  I  heard  the  iron  door  creak  on 
its  hinges  and  the  knocker  fall  once.  Then  some- 
thing heavy  and  hairy  rubbed  its  body  against  the 
door  outside.  McManus  stood  up  saying:  ''Here 
he  comes,  gents  !  " 

Her  dog  entered. 

Lynde  held  out  his  hand  as  the  brute  passed,  and 
Penlow  flung  a  bone  on  the  floor.  The  dog  noticed 
neither  the  caress  nor  the  bone,  but  lay  down  under 
the  bar  and  stretched  his  great  limbs  across  the 
floor,  sighing  heavily. 

"  There  is  one  thing  certain,"  said  Lynde,  looking 
at  the  dog  :  "  the  man  who  killed  the  girl  was  in  the 
habit  of  visiting  her, — and  that  dog  knew  him." 

"  I  also  believe  the  murderer  was  known  to  the 
dog,"  said  Penlow." 

"  The  murderer,"  said  Caithness,  "  washer  lover." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  I,  "  that  none  of  us  suspects 
anybody  except  Wah-Wo." 

"Why  strange?"  asked  Caithness,  then  he  added 
impatiently,  "yes,  it  is  strange  !  Do  you  think  she 
would  have  looked  at  a  Chinaman  ?  " 

"The  Chinaman  looked  at  her;  I  saw  him,"  I 
replied. 


1 88  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  After  all,  she  was  a  common  girl  of  the  street," 
said  Penlow  unaffectedly,  "  and  I  guess  pride  cut 
no  figure  with  her." 

"  That  is  where  you  lie,"  said  Caithness  in  a  low 
voice. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  Penlow  said : 
"  Did  I  understand  you,  Caithness  ?  " 

I  rose  and  laid  my  hand  on  Penlow's  arm,  which 
was  twitching  though  his  face  was  calm. 

"Are  you  crazy?"  I  said  to  Caithness. 

"  I  think  I  am,"  said  Caithness  slowly,  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Penlow." 

Lynde  turned  his  puzzled  eyes  from  Penlow  to 
Caithness  and  lifted  his  mug  mechanically.  Pen- 
low  straightened  in  his  chair  but  said  nothing,  and 
I  leaned  back  motioning  McManus  to  remove  the 
covers. 

After  a  few  moments  the  constraint  became  irk- 
some. "  Red,"  the  tortoise-shell  cat,  mascotte  of 
McManus  and  exterminator  of  mice  by  special  ap- 
pointment, had  cornered  a  vicious  rat  in  the  back- 
yard, and  now  came  marching  in  to  display  the  game 
for  our  benefit. 

"  Git !  "  said  McManus  with  pardonable  pride, 
"  the  gents  here  don't  give  a  damn  fur  to  see 
rats." 

Charley  hustled  the  cat  out  again  and  McManus 
assured  us  for  the  hundredth  time  that  "  Red  "  was 
the  only  cross-eyed  cat  in  New  York. 

None  of  us  had  ever  before  seen  a  cross-eyed  cat^ 
so  we   did    not   deny  it,    although   I  remonstrated 


THE   WHISPER.  1 89 

with  McManus  concerning  his  pride  in  "  Red's " 
ocular  misfortune. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  demanded  McManus. 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  said  I,  "a  cat  should  be  the 
more  valuable  because  it  happens  to  be  afflicted 
with  strabismus." 

"  Sure  !  "  said  McManus  doggedly. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  I  repeated. 

"  It's  a  mascot,"  said  McManus. 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  Did  youse  gents  ever  see  another  cross-eyed 
cat?"  demanded  McManus  hotly. 

We  all  said  no. 

"  Then  what  t'hell  do  youse  gents  know  about 
mascots?"  he  exclaimed  triumphantly. 

The  constraint  still  weighed  upon  us,  however,  for 
Caithness  had  neither  spoken  nor  smiled,  and  Pen- 
low,  it  was  easy  to  see,  had  not  forgotten. 

Lynde  picked  up  a  paper  and  ran  it  through,  un- 
affectedly searching  for  his  own  matter  ;  after  a 
while  Penlow  did  the  same. 

I  looked  at  Caithness,  and  he  felt  my  eyes,  for 
presently  he  moved  a  little  and  passed  his  hand 
over  his  sunken  cheeks. 

"What's  up?"  I  asked,  dropping  my  voice  and 
bending  toward  him. 

"  Nothing — why  ?  " 

"  You  look  like  the  last  rose  of  summer, — you've 
got  a  beastly  cough." 

He  smiled  faintly.  "  It's  consumption,"  he  said, 
"  I  found  out  to-day." 


I90  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

I  stared  at  him  stupidly. 

"  I  don't  mind,"  he  said  ;  "  I'm  dead  sick  of  the 
whole  business." 

"  How  do  you  know  it's  consumption  ?  "  I  asked 
at  length. 

"  I  went  to  three  doctors  to  make  sure  ;  I  tell  you 
I  don't  care." 

Little  Penlow  was  listening  now ;  before  I  could 
speak  again  he  leaned  over  and  took  Caithness's 
hand  affectionately. 

"  Brace  up,  old  boy,"  he  said,  "  go  to  California 
and  get  well." 

"  Of  course,"  I  cried,  "  you're  a  fool  to  stay  in 
this  cursed  climate,  Caithness!  " 

I  spoke  harshly  for  I  was  more  affected  than  I 
cared  to  show. 

"  Chuck  up  your  job  !  Let  the  Consolidated 
Press  go  to  the  devil !  "  urged  Lynde. 

"  I  have  resigned,"  said  Caithness  quietly.  A  fit 
of  coughing  shook  him,  and  he  raised  his  napkin  to 
his  lips.  He  continued,  "  I  thought  I'd  come  around 
to-night  and  say  good-bye." 

The  dog  shifted  his  position  under  the  bar  and 
sighed  again.  One  of  the  gas  jets  behind  the  bar 
blazed  up  suddenly  ;  McManus  turned  it  lower, 
cursing  the  gas  company. 

"Do  you  fellows  know  that  I  have  scooped?" 
said  Caithness  abruptly. 

"  Not — not  the  fellow  who  shot  Lil,"  faltered  Pen- 
low,  who  had  thrown  his  whole  soul  into  solving  the 
mystery. 


THE   WHISPER.  191 

"Yes — the  murderer  of  Lily  White,"  said  Caith- 
ness. In  the  silence  I  could  hear  McManus  grinding 
his  toothpick  in  his  yellow  teeth. 

"  I'm  out  of  the  Consolidated  now,"  continued 
Caithness  calmly, — "  the  scoop  is  yours  if  you  want 
it,  Penlow." 

"  But — but  you  " — began  Penlow. 

"I?"  said  Caithness  fiercely,  "  what  do  I  care  for 
newspapers  ?  What  do  I  care  who  knows  it  now, — 
what  paper  prints  it  first  ?  " 

Lynde  leaned  over  the  table,  his  head  in  his 
hand  ;  Penlow's  pipe  went  out ;  he  did  not  relight 
it. 

"  Did  you  never  know,"  said  Caithness  with  a 
touch  of  scorn  in  his  voice,  "  that  I  also  loved  the 
girl?  Do  you  think  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  it? 
Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  through  since  she 
died  ?  Hell  ?  Oh,  yes,  that's  what  they  say  in 
books.  It  doesn't  matter  ; — Penlow,  when  you  are 
ready — " 

Penlow  started,  then  groped  in  his  pocket  for 
pencil  and  pad. 

"  I  am  ready,  Jack,"  he  said. 

"  This  is  the  story,"  said  Caithness,  almost 
eagerly.  "  On  the  13th  of  last  November,  Lily 
White,  a  girl  living  next  door,  was  shot  through  the 
heart  by  a  man  who  was  jealous  of  her.  He  knew 
that  she  came  into  McManus 's  and  gossiped 
with  the  newspaper  men,  and  he  knew  that  Wall- 
Wo  had  offered  her  all  his  money,  which  was  a 
great   deal.     When  she  was  chatting  with  us  here, 


I92  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

this  man  was  not  jealous, — have  you  got  that, 
Penlow?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Penlow,  scratching  away  on  his 
pad. 

"  He  was  not  jealous  when  Lily  chatted  with  us, 
but  when  he  saw  Wah-Wo  talking  to  her  one  night 
under  the  electric  light  by  the  Joss-house,  he 
watched  the  girl  night  and  day.  She  said  that  she 
loved  him — she  laughed  at  him  when  he  offered  her 
marriage, — so  he  watched  her.  Have  you  got  that, 
Penlow  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Then  a  day  came  when  Lily  was  to  go  to  the 
country  to  see  her  sister, — that  is  what  she  said, — to 
see  her  sister,  and  this  man  went  with  her  to  the 
train  and  saw  her  off  on  her  journey.  But  some- 
thing told  him  to  watch  the  next  in-coming  train, 
and  he  did.     And  Lily  was  on  it. 

"  He  followed  her.  She  came  straight  to  Doyers 
Street,  heavily  veiled,  and  entered  a  house  that  you 
all  know, — the  house  with  the  paper  lanterns  and 
red  signs.  Wah-Wo  lives  there.  A  week  later  she 
returned  to  the  man  who  had  followed  her.  He 
was  waiting  for  her, — have  you  written  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jack." 

"  He  was  waiting  in  her  room, — alone  with  that 
dog  there.  He  accused  her,  and  she  denied  it.  She 
called  Heaven  to  witness  her  innocence.  He  of- 
fered her  marriage  again  ;  she  laughed  at  him. 
Then  he  shot  her  through  the  heart." 

Penlow  ceased  writing  and  looked  up  expectantly. 


THE   WHISPER.  I93 

"The  murderer's  name?  Have  patience,"  said 
Caithness  grimly  smiling.  "  The  man  called  to  the 
dog, — her  dog  there,  and,  because  he  was  the  only- 
living  soul  who  knew  the  brute's  name,  the  dog  an- 
swered and  followed  him  out  into  the  street. 

"  All  day  long  he  wandered  about  the  city,  and  at 
night  he  went  back  to  look  upon  the  dead.  He  did 
not  care  who  saw  him, — he  courted  discovery,  but 
no  one  paid  him  any  attention,  and,  as  it  now  ap- 
pears, nobody  even  saw  him.  About  midnight  he 
went  away,  leaving  the  dog  crouched  at  the  dead 
girl's  feet,  and  since  then  he  has  moved  like  a  liv- 
ing death  among  the  people  of  the  city,  unsuspected, 
unnoticed  by  any, — except  me."  He  paused  and 
looked  at  us.  Tears  had  quenched  the  pale  flame 
in  his  eyes,  and  the  hair  clung  to  his  damp  fore- 
head. 

"  That  man  killed  the  woman  I  loved,"  he  said, 
"  and  now  I  am  going  to  give  him  up  !  "  Then  he 
rose  trembling.  The  sleeping  dog  sighed  heavily; 
his  hind  legs  quivered. 

Caithness  bent  and  touched  the  massive  head, 
muttering,  "  Come  !  " 

At  his  touch  the  dog  raised  its  head  and  looked 
at  him  with  grave  eyes. 

Then,  moving  toward  the  door,  he  whispered 
again,  calling  the  dog  by  name  ;  and  the  great  brute 
rose  stiffly,  yawned,  and  slowly  followed  him  out 
into  the  night. 

The  iron  door  slammed  behind  them  ;  the  damp 
odour  of  fog  came  from  the  black  street.  Lynde 
l3 


194  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

buried   his  head  in  his   hands;    McManus    leaned 
heavily  on  the  bar,  pale  as  a  corpse.     Presently  I 
heard  the  sound  of  rustling  paper. 
It  was  Penlow,  tearing  up  his  pad. 


THE  LITTLE  MISERY 


THE  LITTLE  MISERY. 

If  you  be  dead  also  and  are  come  hither  to  join  us,  I  pity  your 
lot,  for  you  will  be  stunned  with  the  noise  of  the  dwarfs  and  the 
storks. 

Vathek. 

I. 

THERE  was  a  river-driver  beyond  the  Northwest 
Carry  who  respected  neither  moose  nor  man.  Be- 
cause he  was  the  best  river-driver  on  the  West 
Branch  they  let  him  alone  until  he  struck  an  Indian 
with  a  pick-pole. 

The  Indian's  head  was  damaged  and  while  he 
waited  for  it  to  heal,  he  selected  his  revenge.  His 
revenge  was  simple  and  effective.  He  hunted  up 
the  moose-warden  and  told  many  lies.  Deftly 
concealed  among  these  lies,  however,  was  a  truth 
that  infuriated  the  warden. 

The  river-driver,  whose  name  was  Skeene,  sat  on 

his  haunches  and  sneered   when  the  moose-warden 

glided  into  camp.     But  when  he  dug  out  a  head  and 

antlers  behind  a  shanty,  Skeene  picked  up  his  rifle, 

looked    obliquely    at    the    moose-warden,  tied  his 

blanket  and  fry-pan,  hoisted  his  canoe  onto  his  head, 

and  walked  away  to  the  southward,   still   sneering. 

I  don't  know  what  they  said  about   it  in   Foxcroft, 

but  Hale,  who  owned  the  timber,  and  who  thought 

197 


198  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

he  owned  Skeene,  hunted  him  up  and  sent  him  to 
work  on  the  new  cut-off,  hoping  the  affair  might 
blow  over  in  time  for  Skeene  to  drive  logs  again. 
But  Skeene  turned  lazy  and  lined  the  dead  water 
with  traps  and  set-lines,  and  when  Hale  remon- 
strated, Skeene  laughed.  Then  Hale  threatened 
him  and  hinted  about  moose-wardens,  and  $500 
fines,  but  Skeene  thrashed  Hale  before  the  whole 
camp,  packed  his  kit  and  canoe,  and  paddled 
serenely  away  down  the  West  Branch. 

That  really  began  the  trouble,  for  Hale  never 
forgave  him.  When  Skeene  started  to  guide  for 
Henderson  on  the  upper  Portage,  Hale  heard  of  it 
and  ran  him  out.  That,  of  course,  marked  him 
among  the  guides  in  the  lake-country,  and  Skeene 
perhaps  felt  the  ostracism,  for  he  quietly  went  to 
work  for  Colby  on  the  new  sluice  that  ran  from  the 
carry-pond  to  the  lake.  Possibly,  if  they  had  let 
him  alone,  he  might  have  turned  out  as  tame  as  a 
moose-bird, — he  was  only  twenty-three, — but  Hale 
remembered,  and  the  Indian  remembered,  and  one 
day  a  man  came  in  to  the  Carry  Camp  with  a  44 
bullet  in  his  wrist  and  an  unserved  warrant  in  his 
pocket.  The  man  was  a  moose-warden,  and  the 
warrant  was  for  Skeene. 

When  the  news  spread  that  Skeene  had  shot  a 
warden,  the  guides  from  Portage  to  Lily-Bay  con- 
demned him.  Down  at  Greenville  a  sheriff  and 
posse  boarded  the  "  Katahdin,"  and  spent  several 
weeks  cruising  about  at  public  expense.  The  lake 
steamboat  was  comfortable,  the  food  good,  and  the 


THE   LITTLE   MISERY.  199 

sheriff  and  posse  were  in  no  hurry  to  quit.  Pos* 
sibly  they  expected  Skeene  to  come  down  to  the 
shore  and  sit  on  the  rocks;  perhaps  they  fancied  he 
might  paddle  across  their  bows  in  his  sleep.  Nat- 
urally he  did  neither.  When  at  length  somebody 
suggested  that  the  sheriff  and  posse  take  to  their 
canoes,  that  official  steamed  back  to  the  foot  of  the 
lake  in  a  huff,  and  presently  the  rumours  of  Skeene's 
misdoings  became  scarcely  more  definite  than  camp- 
fire  gossip. 

Perhaps  even  then,  if  they  had  given  him  a 
chance,  he  might  have  surrendered  and  taken  his 
punishment,  but  they  didn't  give  him  the  chance. 
A  warden  saw  him  building  a  lean-to,  on  the  island 
that  divides  the  West  Branch.  The  warden  waited 
until  dark,  crawled  in  outside  the  fire,  and  caught 
Skeene  asleep.  That  is  all  the  warden  recollects, 
merely  that  he  caught  Skeene  asleep.  What  Skeene 
did  to  the  warden  when  he  awoke,  the  official  can- 
not remember  distinctly. 

Three  weeks  after  that,  Skeene  walked  into  Kineo 
store,  handling  his  rifle  in  a  most  alarming  fashion. 
He  suggested  that  they  place  certain  provisions  and 
ammunition  in  his  canoe,  which  lay  on  the  beach 
below.  The  three  clerks  complied  with  an  enthu- 
siasm borne  of  fright.  Twenty  minutes  later  Skeene, 
in  his  canoe,  was  seen  making  for  Moose  River. 
Two  guides,  just  from  Lily  Bay,  refused  to  fire  at 
him,  arguing  it  was  not  right  to  drown  a  man  for 
stealing  pork  and  powder.  The  hotel  had  not  yet 
opened,  and  the  people  at  the  annex  objected  to  a 


200  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

man-hunting  trip,  so  they  only  notified  the  sheriff 
again  and  secretly  wished  Skeene  in  hell. 

Of  course,  at  the  hotels  they  denied  the  very  ex- 
istence of  Skeene;  but  the  Bangor  "  News"  printed 
the  story,  and  people  fought  shy  of  Moose  River 
and  the  lake  beyond  which  is  called  Red  Lake.  In 
vain  the  guides  declared  the  region  safe.  It  was 
safe  as  far  as  they  were  concerned.  It  is  not  the 
nature  of  a  guide — that  is,  a  white  guide — to  inform 
on  or  interfere  with  any  man.  Skeene  let  them 
alone.  The  Indians,  too,  paddled  about  Red  Lake 
when  they  wanted  to.  The  Indian  log-driver, 
however,  stayed  away  after  Skeene  had  shot  a  hole 
in  his  canoe.  The  canoe  being  bark,  it  was  through 
Providence  and  a  patch  of  gum  that  the  log-driving 
half-breed  ever  paddled  out  of  the  mouth  of  Moose 
River. 

Now  if  they  had  not  started  to  hunt  Skeene  from 
the  Lakes,  he  would  never  have  troubled  anybody, 
except  possibly  Hale  and  the  half-breed.  He  went 
to  Canada  for  a  year,  worked  at  anything  that  came 
along,  and  sent  money  to  Kineo  store  to  pay  for 
his  pork  and  powder.  That,  of  course,  won  him  the 
guides  again.  So  when  home-sickness  drove  him 
back  to  Red  Lake,  he  expected  to  be  let  alone. 
Hale,  sluicing  at  the  Northwest  Carry,  heard  he  had 
returned,  and  started  for  Red  Lake  with  the  log- 
driving  half-breed  and  six  men.  Two  days  later 
they  returned  ;  Hale  had  a  bullet  in  his  leg  above 
the  knee  and  the  half-breed  carried  a  similar  gift  in 
his  forearm. 


THE   LITTLE   MISERY.  201 

This  incident,  while  relieving  the  conversational 
monotony  at  camp  and  landing,  bothered  the  sheriff 
cruelly.  He  went  to  Foxcroft  where  they  said  un- 
pleasant things  to  him  ;  he  went  back  to  the  Land- 
ing and  they  made  fun  of  him. 

There  was  a  captain  on  the  lake  named  Snow,— a 
white-bearded,  mild-eyed  giant.  When  the  local 
paper  wanted  an  item  it  filled  in  with,  "  Extraordi- 
nary weather  on  the  Lake  in  July!  Steamboat 
'  Red-Deer  '  in  port  with  six  feet  two  inches  of  Snow 
in  her  pilot  house  !  " 

The  sheriff  went  to  see  Snow,  and,  after  a  long 
confab,  summoned  his  posse,  boarded  the  Red-Deer, 
and  left  Greenville,  as  the  local  paper  expressed  it, 
"  under  sealed  orders,  bound  for  Moose  River." 
Naturally,  half  a  dozen  canoes  were  aboard,  some 
lying  bottom  upward  on  the  superstructure,  some 
lashed  to  the  rail.  The  posse  carried  Winchesters, 
although  no  game  was  in  season. 

Off  the  Grey  Gull,  an  island,  the  little  steamboat 
slowed  down  and  stopped,  the  canoes  were  hoisted 
over  the  rail  and  dropped  ;  the  posse  embarked. 
The  sheriff  said  good-bye  in  a  voice  made  loud  by 
nervousness,  and  the  Red-Deer  swung  about  and 
steamed  back  to  the  foot  of  the  lake  with  six  feet 
two  inches  of  Snow  in  her  pilot-house. 

At  the  mouth  of  Moose  River  two  more  canoes 
were  waiting;  Hale  sat  in  one,  paddle  glistening  in 
the  pale  spring  sunshine  ;  in  the  other  sat  the  In- 
dian log-driver,  nursing  the  hammer  of  a  rifle. 

Below  the  long  ridge  the  water  is   nearly  dead, 


202  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

although  a  canoe  might  drift  to  the  point  in 
twenty-four  hours.  It  was  paddling  for  a  mile  to 
the  first  wing-dam,  and  there,  the  sheriff,  who  led, 
flung  his  stern-paddle  into  the  bottom  of  the  canoe, 
flourished  the  setting-pole,  and  stood  up.  At  the 
same  moment  a  jet  of  flame  leaped  from  the  edge  of 
the  wing-dam  and  a  bullet  passed  through  the  sher- 
iff's hat.  The  amazed  official  promptly  fell  over- 
board, sank,  rose,  grasped  the  edge  of  the  canoe, 
and  swamped  it,  turning  the  bow-paddler  into  the 
river.  The  swift  current  landed  them  on  a  shoal 
before  the  sheriff  could  shriek  more  than  twice,  and 
they  crawled  up  on  a  rock,  sleek  and  wet  as  half 
drowned  flies  in  a  sap-pan. 

The  other  canoes  had  halted  ;  some  of  the  posse 
waved  their  rifles,  but  nobody  fired  at  the  wing-dam 
except  Hale.  He  banged  away  as  fast  as  he  could 
pump  the  breach-lever,  and  Billy  Sebato,  the  Indian, 
took  to  the  bushes  and  lay  patiently  waiting  for  a 
mark,  purring  with  eagerness. 

"  Jim  Skeene,  you  darned  thief !  "  shouted  Hale, 
"  come  out  from  them  stones  !  Jest  you  come  out 
on  to  that  there  wing-dam  once  !  " 

Above  the  rush  and  gurgle  of  the  river  they  heard 
Skeene's  voice:  "  You  let  me  be  or  I'll  shoot  to 
kill!" 

"Thief!  Thief!"  yelled  Hale,  dancing  in  his 
seat  with  anger,  until  the  canoe  heeled  and  almost 
swamped. 

"  I  ain't  no  more  thief  than  you  be,  Josh  Hale  !  " 
bawled    Skeene,    "  I    paid    for    them    rations    and 


THE    LITTLE    MISERY.  203 

ca'tridges  and  you  know  damn  well  I  did  !  "  Before 
he  could  add  anything,  the  Indian,  Sebato,  fired 
twice. 

"  If  that  nigger  Sebato  don't  quit  shootin'  I'll  let 
loose  on  all  o'  ye  !  "  called  Skeene,  shaking  his  rifle 
above  the  wing-dam  edge.  "  Git  back  to  your 
dreen,  Josh  Hale,  I  tell  you." 

Hale  had  reloaded  his  magazine,  and  now,  swing- 
ing his  setting-pole  with  one  hand,  started  to  push 
his  canoe  among  the  rocks  where  he  could  hold  it 
and  fire  under  cover.  Skeene  evidently  saw  him  for 
he  slid  suddenly  to  the  corner  of  the  wing-dam  and 
fired  three  shots  through  the  canoe,  cutting  a  swale 
lengthwise  at  the  water's  edge. 

"  Oh,  you  sneaky  bob-cat !  "  yelled  Hale,  white 
with  rage.  In  another  moment  he  was  working  cup 
and  sponge  to  bail  his  canoe,  which  swung  away  on 
the  current  and  drifted  broadside  across  the  sand- 
bar below,  where  it  settled  in  two  feet  of  limpid 
water. 

"  Now  '11  you  let  me  be  ?  "  called  Skeene.  "  I 
hain't  done  nothin'  to  you.  If  that  there  moose- 
warden  wants  me  let  him  come  and  get  me.  Ain't 
you  ashamed  to  go  huntin'  a  man  like  a  Lucivee  ? 
I  tell  ye  I'll  shoot  to  kill,  b'  God  I  will,  at  the  next 
mfn  that  fires  !  " 

"  You  dasn't,"  shouted  the  sheriff  from  behind  his 
rock;  "you  ain't  half  a  man,  Jim  Skeene!  " 

"  I  be,"  said  Skeene  calmly,"  but  I  don't  want  no 
fuss.  You  keep  off'n  this  river,  and  you  keep  off'n 
this  here  wing-dam.     And  you  stop  sneakin'  along 


204  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

the  woods  there,  Billy  Sebato !  Git  back  there ! 
Git  back,  or  I'll  shoot  to  kill  !  " 

"  You'll  hang  if  you  do !  "  bawled  the  sheriff. 

"Then  tell  that  nigger  Indian  to  git  back  !  Tell 
him  quick  !     I  see  him — I — " 

Sebato's  rifle  cracked,  and  the  shot  was  repeated 
by  Hale,  wading  out  on  the  shoal.  Then  a  forked 
flame  flashed  from  the  wing-dam,  there  came  a  crash 
and  crackle  of  dry  twigs,  and  the  Indian  pitched 
heavily  over  the  bank  into  the  swirling  river. 

The  echoes  of  the  shots  died  out  among  the  trees  ; 
for  a  minute  the  gurgle  of  the  river  ripple  alone 
troubled  the  stillness.  A  kingfisher  wheeled  up 
stream,  the  sun  flashing  on  his  blue  wings;  a  fish 
soused  in  a  calm  pool  below  the  dam.  Presently 
the  changed  voice  of  the  sheriff  broke  the  silence  : 

"  Jim  Skeene,  God  help  you,  you'll  swing  for  this." 

Skeene's  pale  face  appeared  above  the  dam,  but 
nobody  shot  at  him. 

"  You  drove  me  to  it,"  said  Skeene.  He  spoke 
huskily.  "  I  told  him  to  git  back, — I  warned  him 
to  quit  sneakin'  up  on  me." 

"  Come  down  off'n  that  wing-dam,"  commanded 
Hale. 

"  Not  for  you,  Josh  Hale,"  replied  Skeene,  "nor 
not  for  any  man  o'  ye !  An'  I  won't  be  took 
neither.  I'm  goin'  away  to  live  quiet  if  they  let 
me." 

He  crouched  and  watched  them  as  they  pushed 
their  canoes  out  into  the  main  channel.  The  sheriff 
and  Hale  advanced  to  the  pool  where  Sebato  lay. 


THE   LITTLE   MISERY.  205 

A  slender  fillet  of  blood,  a  mere  thread  hung  in  the 
water  just  below  the  surface,  and  stretched  out, 
following  the  current,  floating  like  a  red  string. 

"  Bring  them  settin'-poles,"  said  the  sheriff  soberly, 
"  paddles  won't  stand  the  heft,  an'  he's  hefty." 
Hale  suddenly  turned,  snarling  at  the  wing-dam  ; 
"  Jim  Skeene,  you  sneakin'  muskrat ! — "  he  said  ; 
but  Skeene  was  gone  when  Hale's  bullet  stung  the 
rock  above. 


II. 


They  gave  Skeene  little  peace  for  two  months. 
Week  after  week  a  string  of  canoes  passed  the  swift 
water  under  the  first  and  second  wing-dams,  poled 
to  the  point-trail,  and,  disembarking  a  file  of  rifle- 
men, poled  on  again  to  the  discharge  at  Red  Lake. 
Week  after  week  the  distant  flash  of  a  paddle 
startled  the  deer  at  sunrise  among  the  lily-pads. 
At  evening,  too,  silent  canoes  stealing  through  the 
sedge-grass,  roused  the  great  blue  herons  from  their 
heavenward  contemplation  and  sent  the  sheldrake 
scuttling  and  splashing  across  shoal  water  with  a 
noise  like  a  churning  twinscrew. 

But  they  did  not  catch  Skeene. 

Once  they  saw  him  for  a  moment  standing  in  the 
stern  of  his  canoe.  The  canoe  lay  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Little  Misery,  that  dead  stretch  of  water  and 
dead-fall,  winding  through  the  bog  to  the  southward. 
They  gave  chase,  trailing  Skeene's  canoe  by  the  wake 
bubbles   until    they  ran  plump  into    quick   water. 


2o6  THE   HAUNTS   OF    MEN. 

But  the  Little  Misery  is  a  strange  stream  draining 
a  strange  land,  and  there,  in  that  maze  of  cuts  and 
channels,  of  "logans"  and  quick  water,  of  swamp, 
shoal,  sedge,  and  spectral  ranks  of  dead  trees,  tow- 
ering above  swale  and  deadwood,  they  stood  no 
more  chance  of  flushing  Skeene  than  a  caribou  has 
of  raising  three  fawns  in  a  season. 

What  he  did  with  his  canoe  nobody  might  know. 
Certainly  he  left  the  main  channel.  Did  he  himself 
hide  in  the  bog  or  dead-falls  ?  Where  do  young  sand- 
pipers vanish  on  a  shingle  beach  ?  '  Oh  there  were 
sounds  in  the  swamp  as  the  sheriff's  posse  steered 
through  the  even  with  silent  paddle, — sounds  that 
stir  only  in  lonely  places,  faint  splashes,  a  sound  of 
a  swirl  in  still  water,  the  breeze  in  the  swale-grass. 

And  so  they  hunted  Skeene  at  twilight,  at  dusk 
of  morning,  at  high  noon,  from  the  Northeast  Carry 
to  the  Northwest  Carry,  from  the  West-Branch  to 
Seboomook,  from  Portage  to  Lily  Bay,  and  through 
a  hundred  miles  of  lake  and  stream,  up  and  down, 
up  and  down.  But  Moose  River  bore  no  tales  on 
its  placid  breast,  and  the  wing-dams  towered  silent 
as  twin  Sphinxes,  and  the  sounds  that  startled  the 
silence  where  the  Little  Misery  coils  through  the 
strange  country,  are  mysteries  even  to  those  who 
interpret  them. 

It  was  in  May  that  the  ice  went  out,  in  company 
with  Skeene  ;  it  was  in  July  that  they  felt  the  bite 
of  his  bullets  below  the  wing-dam  ;  it  was  in  Au- 
gust that  they  gave  up  the  chase. 

That  evening,  Skeene  stood  on  a  wind-fall  in  the 


THE   LITTLE   MISERY.  2C>7 

depths  of  the  Little  Misery  and  watched  three 
canoes  file  out  of  the  discharge  and  glide  into  the 
swift  water  of  Moose  River.  The  next  morning  he 
started  a  lean-to  on  the  ridge  back  of  the  Little 
Misery,  and  the  sharp  crack  and  thwack  of  his 
axe  rang  out  over  Red  Lake.  At  sunrise  a  moose- 
cow  heard  it  and  ploughed  hastily  shoreward 
through  the  lily-pads  with  an  ouf !  woof!  ouf!  as 
she  struck  the  pebbles  on  the  beach.  One  by  one 
the  great  blue  herons  flapped  up  from  the  dead 
pines,  circled,  sailed,  and  turned  over  to  pitch  head 
downwards  into  the  sedge  with  dull  cries. 

At  noon  the  echoes  of  axe-strokes  died  away  and 
the  hut  was  thatched  with  balsam,  blue  side  sky- 
ward. '  By  three  o'clock  a  spike  buck,  a  yearling, 
lay  across  a  log  on  the  ridge,  and  at  four  o'clock 
Skeene  had  satisfied  his  hunger. 

He  sat  on  the  shore  under  the  ridge,  pensively 
picking  his  white  teeth  with  the  enjoyment  of  the 
abandoned.  Across  the  lake  the  mountains  turned 
to  sapphire  and  ashes ;  a  pale  sky  deepened  into 
flame  colour  ;  the  sun  hung  a  globe  of  crimson  in 
gilded  mist. 

One  by  one  the  last  sunbeams  reddened  the 
trunks  of  the  trees  to  the  eastward,  the  foliage 
burned,  the  shore  line  glimmered.  Like  changing 
hues  on  a  bubble,  the  colours  deepened,  and  played 
over  the  placid  lake.  A  single  snowy  bank  of  cloud, 
piled  up  in  the  east,  glowed  where  the  sun  stained 
its  edges.  The  midges  danced  above  the  sedge;  the 
lake-wash  rocked  the  swales,  to   and  fro,  to  and   fro. 


2o8  THE   HAUNTS   OF  MEN. 

A  trout  broke  in  shallow  water,  flapped  up  and 
splashed  again,  and  the  red  sky  crimsoned  the 
widening  rings,  spreading  slowly  shoreward. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  Skeene  learned  to  talk 
to  himself.  When  he  did  this  he  forgot  that  he  had 
killed  Sebato ;  after  a  while  he  forgot  it  altogether. 

When  the  August  afternoons  were  ablaze  with 
brazen  sunlight  and  the  lake  glistened  like  a  sheet  of 
steel,  Skeene  sprawled  on  a  log  in  the  shade  and 
watched  the  great  blue  herons.  When  they  "  drove 
stakes  "  he  mocked  them  with  the  same  note  until 
they  answered  "  Ke-whack  !  Ke-whack  !  Ke-whack  !  " 
The  red  squirrel's  thin  treble  he  imitated  ;  he  called 
the  chipmunks  with  a  tsip  !  tsip  !  and  laughed  until 
his  white  teeth  glistened  when  a  carrion-jay  alighted 
on  his  knee  for  a  shin-joint  half  hacked.  The  great 
belted-kingfishers  knew  him,  the  sheldrake,  string- 
ing along  the  creek  at  evening,  turned  their  bright 
eyes  to  his,  the  osprey  who  lived  above  the  ledge, 
wheeled  above  him  for  hours,  knowing  that  he  also 
was  a  savage  thing  and  hunted  when  hungry. 

He  was  hungry  several  times  between  sunrise  and 
sunset.  The  swift  water  of  the  Little  Misery  gave 
him  a  trout  to  every  set-line ;  the  deeper  pools  by 
the  sedge  gave  him  pleasure. 

On  the  Little  Misery  deer  swarm  at  evening,  and 
he  had  meat  for  the  price  of  a  cartridge. 

The  white  nights  of  August  brought  that  vague 
unrest  that  all  forest  creatures  feel.  The  deer 
girdled  the  roots  of  the  ash-trees  and  the  spike 
bucks  grew  bolder ;  the  great  blue  herons  danced 


THE   LITTLE    MISERY.  209 

their  contre-dance,  evening  after  evening,  at  first 
solemnly,  advancing,  retreating  in  stately  quadrilles, 
lifting  their  slim  shins  high  in  the  sedge  ;  but,  as  the 
month  ended,  the  contre-dance  lost  dignity  and 
gained  in  abandon,  until  the  lone  loon  out  on  the 
lake  shook  the  silence  with  his  demon's  laughter. 
As  the  moon  waned,  the  forest  world  stirred  ;  its 
attitude  was  expectant ;  it  waited.  The  cow-moose 
began  to  cast  evil  oblique  glances  on  her  calves,  now 
turned  darker;  and  the  little  bull  moose-calf,  frisked 
until  his  tiny  bell  swung  like  the  wattle  on  a 
turkey. 

An  impatience,  almost  a  sadness  fell  upon  Skeene. 
And  with  sadness  came  fear.  He  covered  his 
lean-to  and  built  a  smoke-hole  through  which  blue 
haze  rose  in  the  calm  morning  air.  But,  like  wild 
things  in  winter,  he  was  wary,  and  the  steam -hole 
of  a  beaver's  house  might  be  more  easily  located 
than  the  chimney  of  Skeene's  hut. 

When  September  came  a  hush  fell  over  the  forest ; 
and  and  water  were  silent ;  the  trout  no  longer  broke 
vater  or  leaped  full  length  in  the  after  glow  ;  the 
deer  picked  a  silent  path  along  the  shore  ;  the  herons 
stood  all  day,  heads  stretched  heavenward ;  the 
loon's  maniac  laughter  was  stilled.  Silent  and  more 
silent  the  woods  grew  as  the  new  moon,  a  faint 
tracery  above  the  hills,  rose  in  the  evening  sky.  At 
its  first  quarter  the  silence  deepened,  at  its  half,  the 
stillness  was  intense.  Then  one  black  night  the  Full 
Moon  of  September  flashed  in  the  sky,  and  before 
the  last  shore  ripple  had  caught  its  glitter,  a  gigantic 
14 


2IO  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

black  shadow  waded  out  into  the  lake  and  a  roar 
shook  the  hills. 

The  first  bull-moose  had  bellowed,  and  the  rut- 
ting season  had  begun. 

Instantly  the  forest,  the  lake,  the  shore,  the  stream 
were  alive  ;  the  meat-birds  cried  from  every  cedar; 
the  deer  barked  from  the  sedge ;  a  lynx  howled  and 
miauled  in  the  second  growth.  Everywhere  plu- 
mage and  fur  were  growing  glossy  and  gay.  Even 
Skeene  sewed  porcupine  quills  into  his  boot-mocca- 
sins, and  sang  fragments  of  a  song  he  had  heard  in 
Quebec. 


III. 


Now  there  is  a  season  for  all  things  ;  in  the  fall 
the  black  moose  grows  blacker  and  sleeker ;  in  the 
fall  the  red  buck  rubs  the  tattered  velvet  from  every 
prong;  in  the  spring  the  mewing  cat-bird  whistles 
dreamily  as  a  spotted  thrush  ;  in  the  spring  the  snow- 
bird changes  its  feathers,  chameleon  like,  as  the  snow 
drifts  or  melts ;  and  the  dry  chirring  of  the  red 
squirrel  grows  sweeter. 

"  Each  after  its  kind,"  says  the  quaint  Book,  and 
so  the  spruce-grouse  drums  in  the  long  summer  days, 
and  the  crested  wood-duck  ruffles  its  rainbow  plumes, 
and  the  painted  trout  hang  over  the  gravel  beds  in 
September,  and  the  antlered  moose  barks  at  the 
September  moon. 

As  for  Skeene,  he  sewed  porcupine  quills  in  a 
semicircle  over  the  instep  of  his  moccasins,  laced  a 


THE   LITTLE   MISERY.  211 

string  of  scarlet  trout-flies  across  his  slouch  hat,  and 
listened  to  the  bull-moose,  bellowing  out  on  the 
moonlit  ridge. 

At  times  he  sang  his  Quebec  song,  at  times  he 
sighed.  Twice  he  spared  a  yearling  buck, — he  could 
not  tell  why.  He  caught  a  big  red  sable,  bigger 
than  the  coon-cat  at  the  Carry  House.  It  scratched 
and  bit  him,  but  he  was  very  good  to  it.  A  lazy 
beaver,  driven  from  the  colony  by  his  industrious 
relatives,  bored  a  hole  in  the  bank  under  Skeene's 
shanty.  Beaver-tail  and  hindquarters  are  good,  cold 
boiled,  but  Skeene  let  him  live  in  peace  and  even 
piled  enough  poplar  saplings  at  his  door  to  last 
any  lazy  beaver  a  year.  And  all  this  time  he  was 
sorry  he  killed  Sebato  at  the  wing-dam  ;  he  wished 
he  had  shot  him  a  year  before  in  the  bog-country, — 
it  was  a  good  chance  and  nobody  would  have  been 
the  wiser. 

When  the  September  moon  waxed  full  and  the 
water  lapped  softly  along  the  lake  ledge,  Skeene's 
heart  grew  full,  and  the  blood  in  his  neck  and  cheeks 
ebbed  and  surged  like  moon-tides.  So,  on  the 
second  night,  he  took  his  rifle  and  dragged  the  canoe 
to  the  beach.  But  his  heart  failed  him  and  he  feared 
the  Carry  House,  and  he  went  back  to  his  camp  and 
rolled  and  grunted  through  a  sleepless  night.  On 
the  third  evening  he  started  on  foot,  but  he  hesitated 
when  the  lamp  in  the  Carry  House  broke  out,  a  red 
beam  in  the  night.  He  stood,  wretched,  wistful,  un- 
decided, fingering  his  rifle  butt,  and  his  heart  beat 
to    suffocation.     Something   near  him  stirred    and 


212  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

moaned  among  the  rocks, — a  miserable  gluttonous 
fisher-cat,  its  head  bristling  with  porcupine  quills. 
And  Skeene,  sick  with  self-compassion,  trailed  the 
wounded  creature  to  the  water's  edge  and  killed  it, — 
pitying  it  as  he  pitied  himself.  Then,  worn  out  with 
the  fever  in  his  veins,  he  slept  openly  where  he  lay, 
wondering  if  he  should  wake  on  Red  Lake  shore  or 
on  the  shores  of  a  redder  lake. 

On  the  fourth  night  of  the  full  of  the  moon,  he  went 
swiftly  across  the  ridge,  unarmed,  and  the  miles  of 
woodland  and  shore  sped  away  like  mist,  so  eagerly 
he  ran.  On  that  night  he  heard  the  moose-cows  call- 
ing the  barking  bull,  and  the  whoof !  of  the  dun  doe 
in  the  sedge.  Far  on  the  shore  the  red  beam  of  the 
Carry  lamp  signalled  him  and  his  blood  flamed  the 
answer  in  his  face.  And,  as  he  strode  up  to  the  house, 
he  saw  a  woman  on  the  shore  looking  out  into  the 
night  across  the  spectral  lake.  It  was  Lois,  servant 
at  South  Carry.  He  had  danced  with  her  two  years 
ago  at  Foxcroft  Landing,  he  had  sent  her  six  otter 
pelts  a  month  before  he  shot  Sebato. 

She  was  the  girl  he  had  come  for. 

Is  it  possible  she  expected  him  ?  The  restless- 
ness of  September  had  drawn  her  to  the  lake  and 
something  had  led  him  to  her. 

The  moon,  a  silver  lamp,  traced  a  shining  trail  across 
the  shadowy  waters  ;  his  canoe  grated  softly  on  the 
shoal,  a  string  of  bubbles  followed  the  paddle  sweep, 
the  foam  whispered  secrets  to  the  clustered  sedge- 
grass. 


THE   LITTLE    MISERY.  213 

And  so,  together,  they  glided  away  on  a  trail  of 
silver  water  to  the  strange  country,  drained  by 
strange  streams,  stirred  by  strange  winds.  The  red 
spark  of  the  Carry  lamp  died  out  in  the  night,  the 
little  grey  stars  twinkled  over  the  dead  waters,  pale 
sparks  from  phantom  nuptial  torches  flaring  in  the 
north. 

At  dawn  the  sky  crimsoned  the  Little  Misery. 
They  slept.  At  sunrise  a  moose  roared  a  salute  to 
the  coming  day. 

They  awoke  and  kissed  each  other. 


IV. 


When  the  public-spirited  citizens  of  Foxcroft 
offered  $500  reward  for  the  capture  of  Skeene,  Pla- 
cide  L'Hommedieu  scratched  his  greasy  chin,  licked 
his  lips,  and  went  out  to  buy  cartridges.  Placide  had 
trapped  in  the  Province  and  thought  he  could  trap 
as  well  in  Maine. 

"  Monsieur  L'Hommedieu  what  will  you  do  with 
$500?  "  asked  the  Mayor  of  Foxcroft. 

"  Le  Hommydoo  won't  need  it,"  observed  a 
grizzled  portage  guide  who  had  once  shot  a  match 
with  Skeene.  And  he  was  right  for  they  found 
L'Hommedieu  a  week  later  peacefully  floating  down 
Moose  River  in  his  canoe,  with  a  bullet  in  his  brain. 

When  Skeene  paddled  away  with  Lois,  there  was 
trouble  in  Foxcroft.  Hale  left  sluice,  drain,  and 
chain,  and  wired  the  Sheriff  at  the  Landing  to  meet 


214  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

him  at  Moosehead  Inn.  The  Mayor  went  also,  and 
next  morning  the  reward  was  doubled  for  "  James 
Skeene,  Murderer,  dead  or  alive." 

Hale  had  never  forgiven  the  blow  at  the  cut-off, 
but  a  busy  man  would  scarcely  have  left  his  sluice  to 
hunt  another  man  to  death  for  that  alone.  No,  Hale 
had  other  reasons,  and  they  concerned  neither  Billy 
Sebato  nor  Placide  L'Hommedieu.  They  concerned 
Lois,  servant  at  South  Carry  ;  for  when  she  left  with 
Jim  Skeene  she  took  Hale's  betrothal  ring  with  her. 

After  Skeene  had  set  Placide  L'Hommedieu  afloat, 
with  mud  on  his  face  and  a  bullet  in  his  skull,  he 
shoved  the  canoe  into  swift  water  at  Moose  River, 
broke  both  paddles,  splintered  the  setting-pole,  and 
solemnly  watched  the  canoe  out  of  sight. 

Lois,  waiting  for  him  when  he  poled  into  the  Little 
Misery,  looked  at  his  knife  in  the  scolloped  leather 
sheath,  then  at  his  rifle,  and  finally  into  his  sombre 
eyes. 

"  I  heard, — only  one  shot.     Was  it  a  deer  ?  " 

He  nodded  muttering  that  he  had  missed  ;  but 
that  night  she  caressed  him,  taking  his  curly  head 
into  her  arms,  and  wept  over  him  till  daybreak 
crimsoned  the  world. 

After  that  they  were  almost  gay.  He  notched 
logs  and  built  a  hut  and  rammed  moss  into  the 
cracks.  Lois  brought  clay  from  the  sweet  water, 
and  cut  balsam  until  her  little  hands  were  stained 
to  the  palm.  Twice  he  passed  the  three  carrys  to 
the  C.  P.  R.  and  hung  to  a  freight  as  far  as  Sainte 
Croix.     They  knew  nothing  and  cared  less  in  the 


THE   LITTLE    MISERY.  21 5 

Dominion,  and  he  bought  salt  and  pork  and  flour 
and  cartridges  with  the  proceeds  of  Hale's  ring. 
The  third  trip  he  walked  on  the  C.  P.  fearing  the 
train,  and  he  got  his  price  for  ten  pelts,  including 
musk-rat. 

They  knew  that  happiness  that  is  bred  in  haunt- 
ing fear,  that  fierce,  that  intense  love  whose  roots 
are  imbedded  in  terror.  Lois  had  been  to  school  and 
these  were  the  things  she  knew  ; — that  two  and  two 
make  four,  that  Moose  calves  are  born  in  May,  that 
bark  peels  best  in  June,  that  Moose-calves  are  weaned 
in  September.  She  knew  also  how  to  use  Skeene's 
knife,  and  when  he  found  beaver  above  swift  water 
and  told  her  so  in  the  evening,  she  cut  saplings  and 
whittled  trip-sticks  and  notched  chokers  while  he 
hewed  out  the  bed-pieces  for  the  traps,  and  sharpened 
enough  young  ash  to  build  the  fences  for  winter 
traps.  Mink  traps,  too,  were  no  mystery  to  Lois, 
and  they  talked  long  and  wisely  concerning  stand- 
ards and  cubbies  and  spindles  while  the  embers  died 
under  the  simmering  tins  and  the  deer  whistled  on 
the  windy  ridge. 

Snow  came,  a  phantom  flurry  through  the  pale 
sunshine,  and  Skeene  lugged  more  deer  hides  into 
his  hut.  A  hot  week  followed,  sending  the  trout  to 
the  bottom-sands  and  the  deer  to  the  shallows  ; 
then  came  the  ice;  at  first  a  brittle,  glittering  skin, 
encasing  stem  and  reed,  and  wrinkling  hidden  stag- 
nant pools.  The  wind  in  the  grasses  grew  harsher, 
the  reeds  rattled  at  evening  ;  vast  flocks  of  little 
birds  circled  high  in  the  sky   for  the  winds  of  the 


2l6  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

South  called  them,  and  the  geese  were  drifting  over- 
head. 

One  day  the  snow  came  again,  and  at  evening  it 
had  not  ceased  falling.  A  week  later  the  lake  froze 
and  Skeene  dragged  his  canoe  into  the  hut  and 
daubed  it  with  white-lead,  while  Lois  crept  close  to 
his  side  and  strung  snowshoes.  At  times  she  sang. 
He  listened,  lying  beside  the  canoe.  When  she  had 
sung  the  same  song  until  evening  he  taught  her 
the  song  he  had  learned  in  Quebec ; 

"  Mossieu  Meenoose 
Mossieu  Meenoose 
Mon  dieu  que  tu  as 
Un  villain  chat  la." 

And  she  sang  it  and  sewed  scarlet  braid  across  her 
moccasins. 

During  these  weeks  Hale  was  busy  in  Foxcroft 
When  the  smaller  lakes  froze  he  leered  sideways  at 
the  Sheriff  and  ordered  a  dozen  pairs  of  snowshoes. 
Once  or  twice  he  went  back  to  his  sluice  and  cursed, 
but  the  River  Drivers  regarded  him  with  evil  eyes, 
and  the  sluicers  drove  their  props  sullenly  until  he 
went  away  leaving  a  string  of  oaths  in  his  wake. 
There  were  men  of  the  stamp  he  wanted  on  the 
Province  side  of  the  C.  P.  R.  ;  there  was  Achille 
Verdier,  one-eyed  and  idle ;  there  was  greasy  little 
Armand  Fleury,  dirtier  for  his  fox-skin  cap,  dingier 
for  the  red  braid  on  the  tail.  There  also  resided 
Wyombo,  pigeon-toed,  furtive,  aboriginal.  Much 
could  be    done   with  these    gentlemen    and  $1000. 


The  little  misery.  217 

The  value  of  Hale's  ring  was  $150,  therefore  the 
people  of  Foxcroft  gossiped. 

Snow  fell  on  the  frozen  lake  ;  the  Little  Misery 
was  mantled,  the  carrys  choked.  All  day  long  the 
meat-birds  whined  in  the  fir-trees  and  at  night  the 
sleet  pelted  the  frozen  snow.  The  deer  yarded  on 
the  ridge,  the  moose  on  the  slope  above  ;  the  black 
bear  buried  his  feeble  nose  in  his  stomach  and 
dreamed,  and  the  otters  frisked  over  their  slide. 
As  for  Lois,  she  was  learning  things  ;  she  learned 
that  the  fur  on  the  belly  of  a  young  panther  is  wavy, 
she  learned  that  men  are  brutes,  and  that  Skeene 
was  all  the  world  to  her ;  she  learned  that  she  also 
had  her  value,  for  she  saw  him  swim  the  swift  water 
of  the  Little  Misery  when  she  screamed  affrighted 
by  an  impudent  lynx.  She  learned  that  he  some- 
times preferred  solitude  to  company,  that  he  some- 
times preferred  sleep  to  caresses.  She  learned  that 
he  went  hungry  that  she  might  eat,  that  he  shivered 
while  she  slept  under  skin  and  blanket. 

Sometimes  they  played  together,  Skeene  and  this 
slender  girl,  like  young  foxes  in  the  snow.  She 
would  often  hide,  too,  in  the  hollow  of  a  great  swamp- 
oak,  and  when  he  came  home  she  would  call :  "  Jim  ! 
Jim  !  find  me  !" 

But  God  lives,  and  the  world  spins,  and  the  hare 
turns  white  in  winter,  and  the  routine  of  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end  never  varies. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Skeene,  laughing  up  at 
Lois  in  the  hollow  swamp-oak,  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  and  saw  six  black  dots  clustered  upon  the 


218  THE   HAUNTS   OF  MEN. 

frozen  lake  to  the  southward.  He  said  nothing  but 
looked  into  the  north.  There  were  more  dots  there, 
more  also  on  the  ice  in  the  west.  For  a  moment  he 
thought  the  east  was  still  open  ;  after  a  while  he 
heard  the  scrape  of  a  snow-shoe  very  near.  Lois 
also  heard  and  her  face  was  like  death  as  she  reached 
down  and  took  the  rifle  from  Skeene's  hand. 

When  he  had  climbed  up  into  the  hollow  tree  be- 
side her  and  looked  out  from  the  hole  above  the 
great  branch,  he  saw  Hale  peering  at  him  from  a 
dead-fall. 

"  Come  down,"  said  Hale. 

Skeene  clapped  his  rifle  to  his  cheek  and  fired. 

"  Come  down,"  repeated  Hale  from  behind  his 
dead-fall.  Lois,  trembling  at  Skeene's  feet,  shrank 
at  the  sombre  voice  from  the  woods.  Skeene  bent 
and  kissed  her  and  caressed  her,  muttering  things 
she  could  not  understand,  but  she  caught  his  hand 
in  hers  and  tore  off  the  fur  mitten  and  pressed  it  to 
her  hot  lips,  moaning  and  sobbing. 

"  Come  down  for  the  last  time,  Jim  Skeene,"  said 
Hale  slowly.  Suddenly  a  rifle  shot  rang  through 
the  frozen  forest.  The  hand  that  Lois  held  tight- 
ened against  her  lips,  quivered,  relaxed.  Some- 
thing outside  fell  clinking  and  clattering  to  the 
ground  at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  It  was  Skeene's 
rifle  ;  and  Skeene  sank  forward,  hanging  half  out  of 
the  hole  in  the  tree,  head  downward,  like  a  dead 
squirrel. 

And  beside  him,  the  other  wild  thing  sobbed  and 
whimpered  and  moaned  among  the  branches  while 


THE   LITTLE    MISERY.  2IO, 

below  the  swift  axes  bit  into  the  tree  from  which  the 
dead  game  hung,  head  downward. 

"  Look  in  the  hut  for  the  woman  !  "  bawled  Hale. 

The  tree  swayed  and  crackled  and  fell  crashing 
into  the  snow. 

''Where's  that  woman?"  shouted  Hale  from  the 
hut ;— "  G— d  d— n  her !  "— 

But  when  at  last  he  found  her  he  changed  his  mind 
and  let  her  stay  with  Skeene  there  in  the  snow. 


ENTER  THE  QUEEN 


"Votre  amour  me  ferait  dieu. 
M'aimez-vous,  mademoiselle  ? 
Soupirez  un  mois,  dit-elle. 
Un  mois  I    C'est  la  mort !   Adieu  1 " 


ENTER  THE  QUEEN. 

Souvenir  cher  a  mes  pensees  ! 
Grace  a  la  fraicheur  qu  'il  leur  rend, 
Js  souris  aux  heures  passees, 
Je  m' arrange  du  jour  mourant. 

Beranger. 

I 

The  middle  of  the  studio  was  occupied  by  a  rug. 
The  middle  of  the  rug  was  occupied  by  Clifford. 
He  sat  on  the  floor  playing  a  dirge  on  a  brass  cornet. 
Around  him  lay  bureau  drawers,  empty  trunks  and 
satchels,  flanked  by  cabinets  and  chests  littered  with 
palettes,  underclothes,  colour-tubes,  pipes,  and  paint- 
rags. 

When  Elliott  came  in,  an  hour  later,  he  found 
Clifford  still  performing  on  the  cornet.  He  played 
"Hark!  from  the  Tomb,"  and  "Death  and  The 
Maiden  "  ;  and  while  he  played  he  winked  ominously 
at  Elliott. 

Now,  when  Clifford  played  on  his  cornet,  some- 
thing was  amiss.  Elliott  knew  this  and  watched  him 
sideways,  sullenly  removing  overcoat  and  gloves. 
Every  dismal  bleat  of  the  brass  prophesied  calamity. 
The  hollow  studio  echoed  with  forebodings  of  dis- 
aster. 

"Stop  that,"  said  Elliott,  flinging  his  hat  on  a 
chair ;  "  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

223 


224  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  O  Commander  of  the  Faithful,"  said  Clifford, 
"  behold  the  end  of  the  world  !  J'ai  beau  cherchai — 
je  n'en  trouve  point — " 

"Money?"  asked  Elliott,  sitting  down;  "stop 
blowing  into  that  cornet." 

"  I  know  of  no  other  way  to  raise  the  wind,"  said 
Clifford, — "get  your  cornet  and  we'll  play  duets." 

"  You  mean  we  are  actually  without  means  ?  " 

Clifford  threaded  his  way  through  an  abatis  of 
easels,  canvasses,  books,  and  bird-cages  to  the  Japan- 
ese tea-table. 

"Have  some  tea?"  he  inquired. 

"  No,  I  won't,"  snapped  Elliott,  "  and  you  can  tell 
me  where  our  funds  have  gone." 

Clifford  poured  himself  a  cup  of  tea,  raised  his 
eyes  piously,  sipped  it,  and  looked  at  Elliott  over 
the  edge  of  the  cup. 

"Where's  our  money?"  repeated  Elliott;  "you 
had  charge  of  the  common  account  for  the  last  three 
months — " 

Clifford  sighed,  unrolled  a  sheet  of  paper,  shoved 
it  toward  his  confrere,  and  offered  himself  more  tea. 
Elliott  examined  the  figures  anxiously. 

"You  hopeless  ass!"  he  blurted  out.  "Why 
didn't  you  draw  the  purse  strings?" 

"  I  can  deny  you  nothing,  my  son,"  protested 
Clifford,  casting  furtive  glances  toward  his  cornet 
again. 

"  But  we're  ruined ! "  bawled  Elliott  in  sudden 
fright. 

"  Utterly,"  admitted  Clifford  pleasantly. 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  225 

Through  the  broad  glass  roof  the  pale  winter  sun- 
light fell  over  piles  of  rugs  and  weapons  on  the  floor  ; 
in  the  garden  the  sparrows  chirped  unceasingly 
around  the  frozen  fountain.  Elliott  sat  motionless, 
hypnotised  by  the  column  of  figures  before  him. 
Clifford  regarded  his  canary  birds  with  vague  re- 
proach. 

At  last  Elliott  broke  the  silence  : 

"  We  had  enough, — more  than  enough  to  live  on 
decently  ;  we  threw  our  money  away !  Ass  that  I 
am,  I  didn't  realise  I  was  such  an  ass." 

"  I  didn't  either,"  said  Clifford. 

"  Oh,  you  didn't  ?  "  sneered  Elliott ;  "  who  was  it 
that  spent  five  hundred  francs  on  those  idiot  birds  ?  " 

They  frowned  at  the  two  dozen  canaries.  The 
birds  hopped  aimlessly  from  pole  to  perch  and  from 
perch  to  pole. 

"  I  didn't  buy  a  coupe  for  a  lady,"  retorted  Clifford. 

"  No,  but  you  gave  garden  parties  with  fireworks 
and  Chinese  lanterns,  and  the  company  broke  win- 
dows and  set  the  curtains  ablaze,  and  the  police  fined 
us  for  shooting  rockets  without  a  permit — " 

"  Accidents,"  observed  Clifford  ;  "  our  social 
position  in  the  Latin  Quarter  required  us  to  en- 
tertain." 

"  Our  social  position  on  this  planet  will  also  re- 
quire us  to  eat, — occasionally." 

"  There's  the  furniture." 

"  I  won't  !  I  won't  !  You  hear  me,  Clifford  ! 
I'll  not  sell  a  chair.  Isn't  there  any  money  in  any 
of  those  bureau  drawers?  " 


226  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  No, — look  for  yourself,"  replied  Clifford  cheer- 
fully. 

"  Now  I'll  not  mortgage  our  furniture,"  said 
Elliott ;  "  so  you  needn't  finger  my  carved  chairs. 
We  must  pull  through, — I  don't  know  how, — but 
we  must  pull  through.  I  shall  cut  down  my  to- 
bacco, I  shall  drink  cheap  wine,  I  shall  see  Colette 
at  once — " 

"  Do  you  think  she  can  stand  the  blow  ?  "  inquired 
Clifford. 

"  Your  wit  is  unseasonable,"  said  Elliott 
haughtily  ;  "  how  much  can  you  get  for  your  cana- 
nes? 

Clifford  flatly  refused  to  sell  the  birds  and  played 
a  dirge  on  his  cornet.  Then  the  horror  of  pov- 
erty laid  hold  of  Elliott  and  drove  him  out  into 
the  Luxembourg  where  he  sat  in  the  fading  sun- 
shine until  the  drums  boomed  from  the  southern 
terrace  and  the  challenge  of  the  sentinels,  droning, 
monotonous,  sounded  and  resounded  across  the 
windy  park. 

There  was  a  hint  of  snow  in  the  air  as  he  passed 
out  into  the  Place  de  Medici.  He  clinked  the  few 
gold  pieces  in  his  pocket  as  he  walked.  This  ap- 
palled him,  and  he  stepped  more  quickly. 

On  the  Boulevard,  a  slim  white-browed  girl,  ex- 
quisitely gowned,  called  to  him  from  a  coup£. 
When  he  motioned  the  coachman  to  stop  and 
stepped  to  the  curb,  she  buried  her  nose  in  a  bunch 
of  violets  and  laughed. 

"Colette,"  said   Elliott   gloomily,  "Mr.  Clifford 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  227 

and  I  are  compelled  to  retire  for  the  space  of  three 
months.  Therefore,  most  charming  and  most  wise 
Colette, — therefore — " 

He   raised    one  hand  and   opened  his  fingers  as 
though  releasing  a  butterfly. 


II. 


All  that  week  Clifford  roamed  about  the  studio 
blowing  melancholy  blasts  from  his  cornet.  Elliott 
sold  a  picture  to  Solomon  Moritz  for  twenty  francs, 
regretted  it,  tried  to  get  it  back,  beat  Mr.  Moritz 
with  a  mahl-stick  and  resisted  an  officer.  To  his 
horror  the  French  Government  insisted  on  enter- 
taining  him  for  a  week  at  Mazas,  whither  Clifford 
visited  his  comrade  daily  until  Saturday  and  free- 
dom arrived. 

"This  is  a  hell  of  a  country,"  observed  Elliott 
as  he  shook  the  dust  of  Mazas  from  his  heels  in 
company  with  Clifford.  "  It's  no  place  for  the 
breadwinner ;  the  Jews  have  the  country  by  the 
throat." 

"  They  said,"  observed  Clifford,  "  that  you  had 
Moritz  by  the  throat." 

"  I  did ;  the  ruffian  refused  me  thirty  francs  for 
my  '  Judgment  of  Solomon.'  " 

"  Dear  me  !  "  exclaimed  Clifford  with  an  impudent 
gesture,  "  wasn't  it  worth  it  ?  " 

"  You  will  refrain,"  said  Elliott  furiously,  "  from 
poking  me  in  the  ribs, — now  and  hereafter." 


228  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  entered  the  studio  and 
sat  down  opposite  each  other  in  silence.  The  cana- 
ries filled  the  room  with  their  imbecile  twittering, 
and  hopped  and  hopped  until  Elliott  jumped  up 
and  seized  his  hat. 

"  Is  this  studio  a  bird-cage?"  he  demanded  bit- 
terly. 

Clifford  said  something  about  jail-birds  and  picked 
up  his  cornet.  For  an  hour  he  played  "  'Tite 
Femme  "  and  "  Place  aux  Gosses."  But  when  he 
attacked  "  The  Emperor's  Funeral  March,"  Elliott 
seized  him. 

"  Let  go,"  said  Clifford  sullenly. 

"  No.  See  here,  Clifford,  let's  be  friends  and 
let's  try  to  be  practical.  We've  got  to  make  our 
living  for  the  next  three  months.  Let's  stop  squab- 
bling and  hold  a  conference.     Will  you?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Clifford  amiably. 

"  Then  where  do  we  dine  ?  " 

"  We  haven't  lunched  yet." 

"  This  is  awful,"  muttered  Elliott,  staring  at  the 
canaries ;  "  do  you  suppose  we  could  eat  those 
birds?" 

In  the  silence  that  ensued  a  piano  began  in  the 
studio  above,  and  a  voice  sang: 

"  Et  qu'elle  est  folle  dans  sa  joie, 
Lorsq'elle  chante  le  matin, — 
Lorsqu'en  tirant  son  bas  de  soie, 
Elle  fait;  sur  son  fianc  qui  ploie, 
Craquer  son  corset  de  satin  !  " 

The  piano  ceased ;  there  came  a  laugh,  a  double 


ENTER  THE   QUEEN.  2^9 

roll  on  a  Tambour-Basque,  and  the  clicking  of  cas- 
tanets. 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  said  Elliott  morosely.  Then  with 
a  sneer  he  paraphrased  the  last  line  of  the  song. 

Clifford  pricked  up  his  ears  but  shook  his  head. 

"  Hear  her  laugh  !  I  suppose  she's  dined,"  con- 
tinued Elliott  with  a  vicious  eye  on  the  birds. 
"  Well,  are  we  going  to  eat  those  cursed  canaries?" 

"  I  never  heard  you  swear  like  that,"  protested 
Clifford.     "  Has  poverty  weakened  your  intellect  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Elliott  savagely. 

"  If  we  eat  'em  our  meal  will  cost  five  hundred 
francs." 

"  Then  you've  got  to  sell  them.  They  are  no 
good, — yellow  birds  are  always  feeble-minded. 
Canaries  are  ridiculous." 

The  castanets  began  again,  and  the  voice  took  up 
the  Spanish  measure : 


"  My  Picador  !     My  Picador  I 
Thy  Spanish  customs  I  adore, 
Thou  garlic  loving, 
Cattle  shoving, 
Spick-and-spangled  Picador  1 

I  hear  the  mottled  heifer  roar, 

My  Picador! 
The  people  pounding  on  the  floor, 
My  Picador ! 
The  ring  is  clear ! 
The  cow  is  here  f 

They've  had  to  haul  her  by  the  ear; 
The  Banderillos  linger  near  ! 
Oh,  Picador!     My  Picador!  " 


23O  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  She's  very  gay,"  observed  Clifford,  after  another 
silence  broken  only  by  the  distant  click !  click ! 
click!  of  the  castanets."  Hm  !  I — er — I  suppose 
we  ought  to  call — " 

"  Call,"  repeated  Elliott ;  "  when  I'm  hollow  !  " 

"If  we  call,"  said  Clifford  briskly,  "we  maybe 
invited  to  dinner."  He  smiled,  whistled  a  bar  or 
two,  and  poked  the  fire." 

"  Don't,"  said  the  other,  "you  waste  fuel." 

The  wind  showered  the  sleet  across  the  great  win- 
dows ;  in  the  twilight  a  chill  crept  in  over  the  rugs ; 
a  distant  shutter  banged,  rattled,  and  banged  again. 

Elliott  jumped  up  and  paced  the  floor. 

"  We've  got  to  do  something,"  he  said,  "  and  do 
it  now.      Where's  your  watch  ?  " 

"You  ought  to  know,"  said  Clifford  reproachfully. 
"  Yours  is  there  too." 

After  a  moment  he  continued  ;  "  I've  got  those 
cuff-buttons  you  gave  me — "  He  went  into  his  bed- 
room and  returned  with  the  cuff-buttons.  Elliott 
took  them,  jerked  on  his  overcoat,  nodded,  and 
opened  the  door. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour, — wait  for  me,"  he 
said,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him. 


III. 

"Now,  what  the  mischief  am  I  to  do  for  half  an 
hour,"  mused  Clifford,  staring  out  of  the  blank  win- 
dow, both  hands  in  his  pockets,  an  empty  pipe  be- 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  23 1 

tween  his  teeth.  There  was  a  vacancy  in  his  stomach 
that  bothered  him,  and  the  more  he  thought  about 
it,  the  more  it  hurt.  The  canary  birds  were  revel- 
ling in  bird-seed  ;  he  eyed  them  enviously  for  a  while, 
then  walked  up  and  down  whistling.  Every  time 
he  passed  the  big  gilded  cage  he  could  hear  the  birds 
cracking  and  splitting  the  seeds,  and  the  noise  of 
the  feast  irritated  him. 

His  neighbour  on  the  floor  above  was  singing  away 
with  heart  and  soul  about  bull-rings  and  toreadors, 
banging  joyously  upon  the  Basque  drum  or  snap- 
ping and  clicking  the  castanets. 

"Dear!  Dear!"  he  thought,  "my  neighbour  is 
really  very  gay.  She  must  have  moved  in  to-day. 
I — I  wonder  what  she's  like  !  " 

He  listened,  sitting  close  to  his  dying  fire.  After 
a  moment  he  heard  her  cross  the  room  and  open  the 
piano  again. 

"Dear!  Dear!"  he  said  to  himself,  "what  a 
musical  young  lady  !  Probably  an  embryo  actress 
from  the  Conservatoire  ; — or — or — " 

The  piano  began  ;  it  was  scales  this  time.  For  an 
hour  he  sat  huddled  before  the  cold  ashes,  listening 
to  the  five-fingered  acrobatic  exercises,  alternately 
yawning  with  hunger  and  cursing  Elliott.  When 
six  o'clock  struck  from  the  concierge's  lodge  he  stood 
up,  gazing  dismally  out  into  the  night. 

Suddenly  he  heard  the  scrape  of  feet  outside,  and 
he  hurried  to  his  door  and  opened  it. 

Through  the  lighted  hallway  a  figure  shuffled, 
carrying  a  large  tray  covered  with  a  white  napkin. 


232  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

It  was  a  waiter  from  the  Cafe  Rose-Croix  and  Clif- 
ford knew  him. 

"  Bon  soir,  Monsieur  Clifford,"  he  said  doubtfully. 

"  Good  evening,  Placide,  Placide, — er — is  that 
little  banquet  for  me  ?  Oh,  it's  all  right !  I  suppose 
Monsieur  Elliott  paid  for  it — " 

"  But,  Monsieur,"  said  the  waiter,  "  this  dinner  is 
for  a  lady." 

"  What's  that?  "  said  Clifford  sharply.  Then  he 
buttonholed  Placide  and  hauled  him  inside  the 
studio. 

"  Who  is  the  lady?     The  one  upstairs?  " 

"  Yes — Mademoiselle  Plessis — she  awaits  her  din- 
ner— let  me  go,  Monsieur  Clifford,"  pleaded  Placide. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  play  tricks  on  you,"  said 
Clifford,  "here!  hold  on! — if  you  move  I'll  tip  the 
tray.     Now  all  I  want  you  to  do  is — is — er — dear 


me 


The  odour  of  a  nicely  browned  fowl  disturbed  his 
thoughts  ;  his  mind  wandered  with  his  eyes.  Placide 
gaped  at  him.  He  knew  Clifford  and  he  dreaded 
him.  "  Here  you  !  "  said  that  young  gentleman, 
removing  his  eyes  from  the  fowl  with  an  effort,  "  do 
you  think  that  because  I  do  you  the  honour  of  con- 
versing with  you  that  I  wish  to  rob  you  ?  Do  I 
look  like  a  man  to  interfere  with  a  lady's  dinner? 
Placide,  you  know  me?" 

"  I  do,  Monsieur,"  replied  the  waiter  despond- 
ently. 

"  Then  listen  !  I  am  going  to  make  you  my  con- 
fidant !     Think  of  that,  Placide  !  " 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  233 

The  waiter  looked  at  him  obliquely  and  did  not 
appear  to  appreciate  the  honour  in  store. 

"  Placide!" 

"  Monsieur!" 

"  I  am  in  love  !  " 

"  Doubtless — if  it  is  Monsieur's  pleasure — " 

"  Silence!  Idiot  !  I  am  about  to  bestow  gifts; 
I  am  about  to — " 

"  The  chicken,  Monsieur,  is  becoming  cold — " 

"  I  am,"  repeated  Clifford  majestically,  "  about  to 
offer  two  dozen — twenty-four — canary  birds  to  my 
adored.     You  may  ask ;  what  is  that  to  you — " 

"  I  do,"  began  Placide. 

"  Silence  !  Pig  !  These  twenty-four  canaries  are 
to  be  carried  to  her  by — think  of  it,  Placide  ! — by 
you  ! 

Placide  rolled  his  eyes,  big  with  anguish.  The 
chicken  exhaled  a  delicious  aroma. 

Clifford  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  the  fragrance. 
Then  he  lifted  the  enormous  gilt  cage,  and  placed 
it  in  Placide's  hands.  "  Go  up-stairs  and  take  these 
cursed  birds  with  the  compliments  of  Foxhall 
Clifford,  artist,  American,  70  rue  Bara,  first  floor, 
door  on  the  right." 

"  But — but  my  tray — " 

"  Imbecile  !  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  eat  your 
tray  ?  Come  back  for  it  and — tell  me  what  the 
lady  says." 

Placide  shuffled  sullenly  to  the  door ;  Clifford 
opened  it. 

"  My  tray — "  began  the  unwilling  waiter. 


234  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Placide,"  said  Clifford,  "  I  have  not  dined — er 
— re — cently  and  my  temper  is  uncertain.  You  are 
discreet.     I  wish  to  dine.     Do  you  understand?" 

Placide  smirked. 

"  Then  use  your  wits — and  when  I  have  ten 
francs — well — hasten,  my  good  Placide." 

When  the  waiter  had  gone,  Clifford  tiptoed  over 
to  the  tray  and  sniffed  at  the  napkin. 

"  Dear  !  Dear  !  "  he  said,  "  what  a  wonderful  con- 
gregation of  perfumes.  Now  if  she  doesn't  shut 
the  door  on  Placide's  nose — I — I  hope — I  delicately 
hope  that  I  may  receive  my  reward." 

He  paced  to  and  fro,  whistling,  but  never  taking 
his  eyes  from  the  tray.  After  a  few  minutes  he 
heard  Placide's  slippered  tread  on  the  stairs,  and 
hastened  to  admit  him. 

"  The  young  lady  says,"  began  Placide,  lifting  the 
tray,  " — the  young  lady  says  that  Monsieur  is  too 
amiable — " 

Clifford's  heart  sank. 

"  And,"  pursued  Placide  with  dreary  deliberation, 
edging  toward  the  staircase,  "  the  young  lady  says 
that  she  hopes  to  see  you  " — 

"  When?  "  blurted  out  Clifford. 

"  Some  day,"  grinned  Placide,  and  escaped  up  the 
stairway,  sneering,  triumphant. 

The  blow  staggered  Clifford  for  a  moment — but 
only  for  a  moment.  Before  Placide  had  descended 
again,  Clifford  was  changing  his  clothes ;  before  Pla- 
cide had  passed  the  lodge-gate,  Clifford  had  fastened 
a  white  neck-tie  under  a  spotless  collar.     Then  he  tied 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  235 

a  bit  of  crimson  silk  tightly  around  his  forehead,  in- 
serted two  feathers  from  a  duster  in  the  fillet  where 
they  waved  like  the  plumes  of  a  Sioux  War-chief; 
and  ten  minutes  later,  radiant,  patent-leathered, 
but  starved,  he  rang  gaily  at  the  door  of  the  studio 
overhead. 

When  Claire  Plessis  opened  the  door,  Clifford 
bowed  profoundly  and  skipped  in,  introducing  him- 
self with  joyous  abandon. 

"  It  is  the  custom,"  he  said,  bowing  again  and 
again  with  something  of  an  Oriental  salaam,  "  it  is 
the  custom  in  America — in  far  distant,  sunny 
America, — to  call  at  once  upon  distinguished  stran- 
gers who  come  to  lodge  in  the  building.  Therefore, 
Mademoiselle," — and  although  he  spoke  French 
flawlessly  he  brutalised  it  now  to  suit  his  purpose, 
— "  therefore,  Mademoiselle," — He  salaamed  again, 
rapidly  and  said  : 

"  How  !  How  !  How  !  " 

"  Monsieur,"  faltered  the  girl,  not  knowing  whether 
to  laugh  or  call  for  assistance, — "  Monsieur,  I  am 
honoured — pray  be — be  seated." 

"  Mademoiselle — it  is  too  much  honour  !  " 

"  Monsieur — " 

They  bowed  again,  and  Clifford  sank  into  a  chair, 
his  duster  plumes  nodding  on  his  head. 

The  girl  regarded  him  with  undisguised  amaze- 
ment. She  saw  his  eyes  rolling  toward  the  white- 
covered  table  and  thought,  "  Oh  dear,  what  shall  I  do 
with  this  foreign  savage  who  sends  me  canary  birds 
by  the  gross  and  who  skips  like  a  dancing  dervish?  " 


236  THE   HAUNTS    OF   MEN. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  stammered. 

"  How  !  How  !  How  !  "  grunted  Clifford  absently, 
sniffing  the  tablecloth. 

"  Nothing — nothing,  Monsieur,"  she  said  hastily  ; 
"  I  wish  to  thank  you  for  the  birds — " 

"  We  eat  them  in  America,"  he  said,  and  chattered 
his  teeth. 

"  Like — like  chickens?  " 

"  What  are  chickens  ?  " 

She  laughed  and  looked  at  the  uncarved  fowl  on 
the  table. 

"  Is  that  a  chicken?  "  asked  Clifford  in  his  most 
awful  French.     "  Is  it  good  to  eat  ?" 

"  If  you  would  do  me  the  honour  to  accept  my 
hospitality,  Monsieur,  you  could  prove  it  for  your- 
self," she  said  laughing,  and  a  little  more  at  ease. 
"  I  have  not  yet  dined, — I  am  quite  alone — " 

Clifford  accepted,  rising  with  oriental  languor,  and 
bowed  magnificently.  He  led  her  to  her  place, 
seated  her,  drew  up  a  chair  opposite,  and  smiled 
upon  her.  His  feathers  bobbed  with  every  move- 
ment. 

"  Now  of  course,  I  must  carve,"  she  said,  striving 
hard  to  repress  an  hysterical  laugh  ;  for  Clifford, 
desiring  to  play  his  part  of  a  foreign  savage  to  per- 
fection, was  doing  impossible  things  with  his  knife 
and  fork. 

"  If  she  finds  me  out,"  he  was  thinking,  "  it  will 
not  be  very  gay  for  me."  So  he  showed  his  teeth 
and  muttered  and  salaamed  occasionally,  while  the 
girl  bowed  to  him    over  her   slender  glass  of  claret 


ENTER   THE    QUEEN.  237 

and  helped  him  to  more  and  more  and  more  until 
the  suffocating  desire  to  laugh  brought  tears  to  her 
eyes. 

"  In  America  it  is  etiquette  to  eat  until  there  is 
nothing  left — at  least  I  have  read  that  in  books," 
she  ventured. 

"  It  is,"  said  Clifford,  uncorking  another  bottle. 

"You  seem  to  like  chicken,"  she  said. 

"Ah,"  he  replied,  "wait  until  you  try  my  canary 
birds !  " 

"  But,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  not  going  to  eat  them  !  " 

Their  eyes  met  across  the  table.  He  felt  that  he 
was  going  to  laugh  ;  he  looked  into  her  big  grey 
eyes.  Her  dark-fringed  lashes  were  trembling  too  ; 
on  each  cheek  a  dimple  deepened  ;  between  her 
scarlet  lips  the  white  teeth  parted  ;  then  she  sank 
back,  her  hands  flung  helplessly  into  her  lap,  and, 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  they  burst  into  ring- 
ing peals  of  laughter. 

Three  times  she  dried  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  and, 
leaning  forward,  attempted  to  speak,  but  when  her 
eyes  met  his  again,  she  threw  back  her  pretty  head 
and  laughed  until  the  colour  deepened  to  her  throat. 
And  so  they  sat  there,  trying  to  speak,  but  shrieking 
with  laughter,  until  the  glasses  and  bottles  clinked 
and  vibrated  and  the  window  panes  sang  again. 

At  last  she  murmured,  "  For  shame,  Monsieur  ! 
I — I  ought  to  be  very  angry, — but  I  laugh — oh 
dear!  oh !  dear  !  I  laugh  and  I  should  be  furious  ! 
Fie  !  You  play  the  foreigner — the — the  untutored 
one  who  never  saw  chicken — oh  dear !  oh  dear  ! — " 


238  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

She  rose,  drying  her  eyes  again  on  a  dainty  pocket 
handkerchief. 

"  Shame  on  you  !     How  dared  you   come  to  my 

room    and — oh  dear — and  tell  me  you  eat  canary 

birds — and  walk  like  a  dancing  dervish,  and  do  such 

things  with  your  knife,  and — what  is  your  name  ? — 

mine  is  Claire." 

****** 

When,  three  hours  later,  he  rose  to  go,  he  had 
told  her  all, — the  whole  wretched  truth,  and  she  had 
watched  him  with  curious  grey  eyes,  now  brimming 
with  laughter,  now  exquisite  in  their  sympathy. 
She  forgave  him — not  easily — but  when  he  removed 
the  feathers  from  his  headdress  and  said  he  was 
sorry,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  brilliant 
eyes  and  grave  lips. 

"  So — you  are  forgiven, — not  because  you  de- 
serve it.  Here  in  the  Quarter  we  are  like  the  leaves 
in  the  Luxembourg  ;  we  bud  with  the  promise  of 
summer, — we  unfold,  we  nestle  and  whisper  to- 
gether,— we  grow  gorgeous  and  brilliant, — then  we 
fall.  Let  us  live  in  friendship  while  we  may, — we 
of  the  Latin  Quarter.     I  forgive  you,  mon  ami." 

IV. 

When  Clifford  reached  his  own  door  on  the  floor 
below,  he  heard  voices  in  the  studio.  A  hard  world 
had  driven  some  caution  into  his  head  and  he  lis- 
tened for  a  moment  to  assure  himself  that  the 
voices  were  not  the  voices  of  creditors. 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  239 

"It's  Elliott  and  Colette,"  he  murmured,  knock- 
ing discreetly.  Elliott  opened  the  door ;  on  the 
piano-stool  sat  Colette  demurely  twisting  the  fur 
of  her  boa.  Clifford  bent  over  the  extended  hand, 
then  looked  at  Elliott.  The  latter  felt  in  his  pocket, 
produced  the  cuff  buttons,  and  tossed  them  on  the 
table. 

"  You  can  keep  your  jewellery,"  he  said,  "  I've  got 
a  better  scheme  ;  Colette  proposed  it — " 

"  You  wouldn't  listen  to  the  other  plan,"  she  said 
shyly,  "  I  don't  want  that  coupe — " 

"You  mustn't  say  such  things,"  interposed  Clif- 
ford gravely  ;  then,  turning  to  Elliott,  "what are  we 
going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Let  me  tell,"  cried  Colette,  fanning  her  flushed 
face  with  the  end  of  the  boa  ;  "  sit  down  and  be 
very  still, — you  also,  Monsieur  Clifford, — there  ! 
Now  listen !  I,  Colette,  have  a  very  beautiful 
plan." 

"  How  to  become  a  millionaire  in  a  week, — by 
Mademoiselle  Colette,"  began  Clifford,  and  was 
beaten  with  the  fur  boa. 

"  Very  well  "  she  cried  ;  "  then  I  shall  not  trouble 
myself, — oh  !  you  had  better  say  you  are  sorry  ! 
Now  listen  !      It  is  my  plan, — mine,  Co-lette  !  " 

She  settled  herself  on  the  piano-stool,  whirled 
around  until  her  pointed  shoes  rested  on  the  rug, 
smiled,  buried  her  nose  in  the  point  of  her  boa,  and 
said  ;  "  To  begin,  you  are  poor  ! — don't  interrupt ! 
It  is  well  to  begin  at  the  beginning.  Then,  you  are 
poor.     You  have  nothing  to  live  on — you  improvi- 


240  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

dent  ones, —  for  three  more  months.  Comment  faire  ! 
Paint  and  sell  pictures  ?  No.  Why?  Because  you 
have  not  yet  learned  enough  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux 
Arts!  But  yet  you  must  live.  How?  Ah,  Dick, 
if  you  would  only  let  me  return  you  that  old  coupe' 
— there !  I  didn't  mean  it !  Now  let  us  begin 
again  ! — You  are  poor—" 

"  We're  back  where  we  started,"  began  Clifford 
but  was  snubbed. 

"  So, — you  are  poor.  You  must  earn  something. 
How  ?     Why,  with  your  cornets  !  " 

"  Eh  ?  "  stammered  Clifford. 

"Exactly!"  cried  Colette;  "you  shall  play 
every  evening  in  Bobinot's  orchestra  and  gain  many 
many  francs,  industrious  ones  !     Voila  !  " 

Clifford  stared  at  her.  She  nodded  her  head  at 
him  and  smiled. 

"  It's  an  idea,"  said  Elliott  ;  "  Boissy  told  Colette 
that  Bobinot's  two  cornet  players  had  gone,  and  old 
Bobinot  is  looking  for  two  new  ones.  It's  a  chance, — 
we  need  only  play  in  the  evenings — it  will  keep  soul 
and  body  together — won't  it  ?  Why  don't  you  say 
something?  " 

"  It's  an  idea, — isn't  it  ?  "  repeated  Colette  sol- 
emnly. 

"What !  "  faltered  Clifford,  "  play  a  cornet  in  that 
cheap  Montparnasse  Theatre, — Bobinot's  !  Suppose 
they  hear  of  it  in  New  York  ?  " 

"Suppose  we  have  to  go  to  the  American  Consul 
and  ask  him  to  ship  us  home,"  retorted  Elliott. 

Bobinot's,  the  students'  theatre  on  Montparnasse, 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  241 

was  not  the  Theatre  Francais  perhaps,  but  the  act- 
ing was  good, — indeed  it  was  better  than  that  seen 
in  most  New  York  theatres.  Clifford  had  spent  joy- 
ous evenings  at  this  "  Quarter  "  theatre  ;  it  was  often 
better  than  the  "Cluny  " — even  "  Antonio,  pere  et 
fils,"  admitted  that. 

"  Still,"  he  said,  "  the  Quarter  will  never  stop 
laughing — er — Colette  in  her  coupe  and  you  in  the 
orchestra — " 

"  I  shall  not  drive  in  my  coupe  until  Dick  wishes 
it !  "  cried  Colette,  crimson  and  white  by  turns.  "  For 
your  bad  taste  I — I  pardon  you." 

Too  utterly  snubbed  to  have  a  mind  of  his  own, 
Clifford  meekly  made  his  peace  with  Colette  and 
opened  the  door  for  her  and  Elliott. 

"Are  you  sure  we  can  get  the  place?"  he  asked. 
"  Perhaps  Bobinot  won't  want  us." 

"  Bobinot  must !  "  said  Colette ;  "  I  shall  call  upon 
Claire  Plessis  who  is  to  sing  the  premiere  roles  there. 
She  is  sweet ;  she  is  also  from  Tours.  That  is  my 
country.     And  I  love  her  very  much." 

"  Where  does  she  live?"  inquired  Clifford  with  a 
guilty  start. 

"  Upstairs.  I  shall  call  upon  her  to-morrow. 
Dick,  are  you  coming?  Then  good-night,  wicked 
one  !  Come,  Dick,  dear  !  To  your  evil  conscience 
I  leave  you,  Monsieur  Clifford  " —  and  she  iaughed 
and  gave  him  her  gloved  hand. 

Clifford  closed  the  door  gently  behind  them.     For 

a  moment  he  stood  staring  at  the  panels,  then  raised 

his  eyes  to  the  ceiling. 
16 


242  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  thought,  "  I — I  wonder  whether 
Claire  will  tell  Colette  ?  " 

He  shivered.     The  Quarter  is  pitiless  in  ridicule. 

Elliott  came  back  late  that  night,  but  he  was 
cheerful  and  he  whistled  as  he  shook  the  snow  from 
hat  and  coat  and  stamped  around  the  studio. 

"  We'll  see  Bobinot  to-morrow,"  he  said  ;  "  I  tell 
you  it's  not  a  bad  idea — all  Colette's,  too  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  and  Colette  had  agreed  to  dis- 
agree," observed  Clifford. 

The  other  reddened  a  little.  "  We  have,"  he  said 
— "  for  three  months." 

Before  he  was  ready  for  bed  he  missed  the  canary 
birds  and  questioned  Clifford,  but  the  latter  told 
him  to  mind  his  business.  This  Elliott  cheerfully 
complied  with  and  went  to  bed. 

"  By  the  way,  did  you  dine  to-night  ?  "  he  called 
out  before  he  closed  his  door. 

"  Yes,"  snapped  Clifford. 


V. 


Thanks  to  Colette  and  Claire,  through  tne  medium 
of  Boissy,  the  little  snare-drummer,  who  lived  on  the 
top  floor,  Monsieur  Bobinot  consented  to  give 
Elliott  and  Clifford  a  trial. 

Boissy  presented  them  to  Monsieur  Bobinot  as 
two  eminent  American  virtuosi,  but  Bobinot  sneered 
openly. 

"  Don't  try  to  stuff  me,"  he  said ;  "  they're  two 


ENTER   THE    QUEEN.  243 

students  on  their  uppers.  What  do  I  care  as  long 
as  they  can  play  ?  " 

"  They — they  are  very  eminent  " —  pleaded  Boissy 
— "  their — hm  ! — technique  is  so  original,  Monsieur 
Bobinot —  " 

Bobinot  turned  a  pair  of  hard  bright  eyes  on  Clif- 
ford. 

"  En  effet,  Monsieur  Bobinot,  we  are  students," 
said  Clifford  with  magnificent  condescension  ;  "  but 
we  can  blow  harmony  out  of  a  broken  bottle  ; — 
Elliott,  kindly  play  '  The  Battle  of  Buena  Vista  '  for 
Monsieur  Bobinot." 

Elliott  drew  his  cornet  from  beneath  his  overcoat 
and  gravely  performed  the  stirring  war  march  with 
hideous  variations,  while  Clifford  imitated  a  drum 
with  his  knuckles  on  the  window  pane. 

"  Cannon,"  said  Clifford,  banging  on  a  sheet  of 
tin  which  lay  on  the  floor. 

"  Let  my  properties  alone !  "  shouted  Bobinot. 

"  Drums, — the  Mexicans  retreating,"  continued 
Clifford  serenely,  returning  to  the  window. 

"  Humph  !"  snorted  Bobinot. 

"  Cries  of  the  wounded  !  "  observed  Clifford,  and 
emitted  a  series  of  piercing  screams  while  Elliott 
continued  his  variations. 

"  Ovv  !  Ow  !  Ow  !  "  wailed  Clifford,  winking  at 
Boissy  who  had  sunk  helpless  on  a  chair,  weak  with 
laughter. 

"  Stop  !  "  thundered  Bobinot. 

Elliott  finished  his  variations  and  looked  expect- 
antly at  the  manager  of  the  "  Theatre  Bobinot." 


244  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"It's  d — n  fine,"  said  Monsieur  Bobinot,  "but  I 
could  manage  to  exist  and  earn  an  honest  living 
without  your  artistic  collaboration.  I  say  I  could 
dispense  with  your  musical  services,  but  I  cannot, 
Messieurs,  afford  to  lose  from  my  personnel,  two  such 
splendid  examples  of  human  impudence.  Consider 
yourselves  engaged.     Boissy,  I'll  pay  you  for  this  !  " 

"Then,"  said  Clifford  artlessly,  "let's  cement  the 
contract  with  a  bottle  !  " 

"  Bottle  of  what  ?  "  demanded  Elliott ;  "  we  haven't 
any  money  !     You  mortify  me  !  " 

Clifford  smiled  blandly.  "Come,  Monsieur  Bob- 
inot, no  hard  feelings  you  know !  What  shall  it 
be?" 

"Whatever  you  like,  Messieurs,"  said  Bobinot 
grimly  ;  "  I'll  take  it  out  of  your  salary." 

But  Monsieur  Bobinot  was  better  than  his  word. 
He  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  young  fellows  were  in 
earnest,  and  he  not  only  acted  the  host  very  de- 
cently, but,  as  Boissy  dragged  the  two  young  men 
away,  he  handed  them  each  a  week's  salary  in  ad- 
vance. 

"  It's  for  your  infernal  cheek  !  "  he  said  ;  "  come 
to  rehearsal  at  ten  !  "     * 

The  first  week  passed  without  a  hitch.  Elliott 
played  the  orchestrated  scores  for  Clifford,  and  the 
latter,  being  quick  and  instinctively  musical,  learned 
his  part  by  heart,  to  the  utter  demoralisation  of  the 
tenants  on  the  upper  floors.  Mademoiselle  Plessis 
stood  it  as  long  as  she  possibly  could  and  then  sent 
for  Clifford. 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  245 

"  Monsieur  Clifford,"  she  said  seriously,  "  this 
must  stop." 

"  If  it  stops  /stop,"  said  Clifford  ;  "  I  can't  live 
on  air." 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  are  neither  a  chameleon  nor 
an  angel." 

"  Not  an  angel  yet,  but  on  the  floor  below,"  he 
said  humbly. 

Mademoiselle  Plessis  tapped  her  foot  against  the 
fender  and  brushed  the  leaves  of  her  role  with  the 
tip  of  one  white  finger. 

"  Mon  ami,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  learn  my  role  if 
you  toot  all  day  on  that  cornet." 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  "  inquired  Clifford  miser- 
ably. 

"  You  must  have  certain  hours  to  practise.  Mon- 
sieur Boissy  plays  on  his  drum'  from  two  until  four  ; 
Monsieur  Castro  chooses  that  time  for  trombone 
exercise ;  why  can  you  not  play  your  cornet  dur- 
ing those  hours  ?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Clifford  craftily,  "  but  what  shall  I 
do  from  four  until  six?"  He  looked  at  her  with 
eyes  that  appealed  and  languished. 

"  Do?" 

"  Ah,  yes  !  It  will  be  lonely  up  there  on  the  floor 
above — won't  it  ?  " 

Mademoiselle  Plessis  raised  her  clear  eyes  to  the 
ceiling. 

"  Is  it  so  very  lonely  down  there  ?  It  is  not, — up 
here." 

"Very.     I  think  of  you  all  day." 


246  THE   HAUNTS   OF  MEN. 

"Of  me?     How  foolish  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  wish  I  were  able  to  aid  you  to  learn 
your  parts." 

"  But  you  can't — " 

"  I  could  if  you'd  let  me  read  your  cues — " 
— "  I  don't  need  that—" 
— "  Don't  refuse—" 
— "  I  must—" 
— "  Don't—" 

— "  But  I  do  !     And  you  are  very  silly. — " 
*  *  •*  *  *  •* 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Clifford  should  bleat  on 
his  cornet  from  two  until  four,  during  which  time 
Claire  would  go  out  for  a  walk ;  and  from  four  to 
six,  when  Claire  was  at  home,  he  might  aid  her  by 
his  presence  and  advice  and  judiciously  regulated 
sympathy. 

"  The  idea  !  "  she  said,  with  a  pretty  gesture  of 
disdain  ;  "you  will  only  bother  me.  You  had  much 
better  write  me  a  little  play." 

"  A  '  lever  de  rideau  !  '  "  exclaimed  Clifford;  "  by 
Jove,  I'll  do  it!  " 

"  Can  you  write  French  well  enough,  mon  pauvre 
ami?" 

"  No,  but  you  can  supply  all  the  localisms  and 
wit.     Will  you?" 

"We  might  try,"  she  said  with  a  doubtful  smile. 
She  was  very  much  interested,  however,  and  when, 
a  few  days  later,  he  brought  her  a  rough  sketch  of  the 
u  Queen  of  Siam,"  she  read  it  with  serious  interest. 

"It  is  a  pretty  idea,"  she  said,  flushing  with  pleas- 


ENTER   THE    QUEEN.  247 

ure.     Then,  resting  her  chin  on   her  hand,  she  in- 
vited him  to  sit  beside  her. 

"You  know,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "  if  we  are 
really  going  to  collaborate,  we  must  be  very  grave 
and  serious  ior  you  are  not  working  for  pleasure  and 
/  am  earning  my  bread — " 

— "  And  honey, — oh  !  you'll  have  woodcock  on 
toast  and  champagne  too  if  this  play  goes  ! " 

"  Then  let  us  make  it  go,"  she  exclaimed  enthusi- 
astically. 

"  Let's  !  "  he  cried  with  equal  fervour. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  The  play  won't  go  if  you  don't  take  your  pen  in 
hand,"  she  said. 

— "  But  I  will—  " 

"  Then  hadn't  you  better  release  my  hand  ?  " 

And  so  the  afternoons  wore  away  while  with  heads 
together  over  the  manuscript  they  chattered  about 
exits  and  entries,  scenarios,  cues  and  "  pan  coupe's  " 
and  Clifford  rose  to  the  occasion,  displaying  a  wit 
which  matched  her  dainty  cleverness  and  struck  the 
quick  warm  spark  of  sympathy  between  them. 

"  Delicious  !  "    she  would  laugh  at   some   hastily 
pencilled  bit  of  dialogue,  and  then,  bending  over  the 
table  :    "  Don't  you  think  that  we  might  shorten  the^ 
King's  lines  just  here?     See,  I  only  strike  out  these 
three  words — ah  !  see  how  much  better  it  reads  !  " 

"  Much  better  ! — very  much  better !  " 

"  Very  much  ;  it  flows  smoothly  now — oh  !  oh  ! 
how  funny  to  make  the  Queen  threaten  them  ! 
How  did  you  ever  think  of  that  ?  " 


248  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Why,  it  follows  naturally — you  see  she  is  all  in 
armour,  and  the  spurs  trip  up  the  archbishop — " 

And  so  the  afternoons  wore  away. 

This  was  all  very  pleasant,  but  it  had  its  draw- 
backs and  one  winter  evening  toward  six  o'clock 
Clifford  jumped  up  and  stared  at  the  clock  horrified  : 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  he  muttered,  "  they  are  giving 
'  Pomme  d'Api,'  to-night  and  I  haven't  practised  the 
music  !     What  the  deuce  shall  I  do  !  " 

"  And  you  can't  read  music  at  sight  ?  Oh,  what 
a  shame!  It  is  all  my  fault,  mon  ami,"  she  cried  in 
contrition. 

"  No  it  isn't — only  the  afternoon  flew,  and  I  never 
thought.     Bobinot  will  sack  me  for  this !  " 

"You  must  get  a  substitute,"  she  said,"  it's  often 
done." 

"  Where  can  I  find  one  ?  " 

"  Ask  Boissy,  he  knows  lots  of  people  who  do  that 
sort  of  thing, — there's  his  drum  now!  go  down  and 
see  him — hurry — go  quickly,  mon  ami, — Oh  !  you 
mustn't ! — you  mustn't !  There  !  my  gown  is  all  in 
wrinkles.  I  do  not  wish  you  ever  to  return, — no, 
never, — go  quickly  now  or  Boissy  will  be  gone  ! — 
hasten  ! — ah  well — then  I  will  try  to  forgive  you, 
mon  ami." 

As  he  galloped  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the 
street  he  felt  as  though  he  were  treading  on  clouds 
— rosy  clouds. 

"  Nevertheless,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  must  never 
kiss  her  again." 


ENTER   THE    QUEEN.  249 


VI. 

The  substitute  cornet  player  was  a  success  but 
was  also  very  expensive.  Clifford  paid  him  thank- 
fully, but  it  made  a  large  hole  in  his  meagre  weekly 
salary,  and  he  decided  to  do  without  substitutes  in 
future.  He  explained  to  Elliott  how  it  was,  and  the 
latter  young  gentleman,  who  viewed  Clifford's  infatu- 
ation for  Claire  with  alarm,  shook  his  head  and  sighed. 

"  You  can't  afford  it,  my  son.  Suppose  you 
hadn't  been  able  to  get  a  cornet  player  ?  Bobinot 
would  have  bounced  you." 

"  Now  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Clifford, 
who  had  been  consulting  Claire.  "  I  understand 
that  the  leader  of  the  orchestra — what's  his  name — " 

— "  Bock—" 

— "  Bock, — I  understand  that  he's  generally  drunk 
and  can't  tell  whether  one  or  two  cornets  are  play  • 
ing." 

"  But  he  would  see  your  empty  place." 

"  I  could  get  any  ordinary  man  to  sit  there, — 
Selby  would  do  it  for  the  lark.  If  he  pretended  to 
play,  Bock  wouldn't  know  the  difference.  I  had  to 
pay  that  substitute  of  mine  twenty  francs.  Kid 
Selby  would  do  it  to  oblige  me." 

"  And  he  could  stuff  the  cornet  with  cotton,"  sug- 
gested Elliott. 


250  THE   HAUNTS   C/F   MEN: 

"  Exactly — Bock  would  never  know.  So  any 
time  we  want  a  vacation  we'll  call  on  Selby,  stuff 
his  cornet  with  cotton,  and  let  him  blow  his  cheeks 
out  while  the  other  man  does  the  playing?  Where 
are  you  going?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  get  Kid  Selby — it's  my  turn  for  a 
vacation  to-night,"  replied  Elliott  laughing,  and 
walked  out,  slamming  the  great  doors. 

Clifford  opened  his  desk,  took  out  a  pile  of  man- 
uscript, and,  thrusting  them  into  his  pocket,  hurried 
up-stairs  to  begin  his  daily  collaboration  with  his  fair 
neighbour.  Time  flew  for  them,  but  the  "  Queen  of 
Siam  "  was  slowly  taking  the  shape  of  a  curtain-raiser 
whose  fate  would  soon  be  determined.  The  lyrics 
were  fortunately  few,  and  of  course  Claire  rhymed 
them,  for  poetry  in  French  was  beyond  Clifford's 
ken.  And  she  rhymed  them  charmingly,  setting 
them  to  the  music  of  quaint  old  songs  that  all 
France  knows.  Clifford  hung  breathlessly  over  the 
piano,  gaping  with  admiration. 

Monsieur  Bobinot  had  read  the  piece  and  had 
found  it  suitable, — so  suitable  in  fact,  that  for  a 
long  time  he  refused  to  believe  that  Clifford  could 
be  the  author. 

"  Voyons,  confess  he  hashed  it  up  from  some  old 
vaudeville  !  "  he  repeated  to  Mademoiselle  Plessis, 
until  at  last  he  was  constrained  to  accept  it  as 
original.  Of  course  he  cast  Claire  for  the  "  Queen  "  ; 
she  refused  to  stir  a  step  unless  he  did  ;  and  the 
other  parts  were  given  to  Mesdames  Paule  Nevers, 
Bonelly,    Mario-Widmer,    and    to    Messieurs    Max, 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  25  I 

Bourdielle,  Deberg,  Bayard,  Brunet,  and  Simon. 
Naturally  Max  was  cast  for  the  Archbishop  of  Ept, 
and  Bayard  for  the  King,  while  Bourdeille's  char- 
acter, "  Syleuse,"  was  written  entirely  with  the  view 
that  he  should  create  the  role. 

Bobinot  grumbled.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
nothing  to  say  about  anything  in  his  own  theatre, 
but  Mademoiselle  Plessishad  her  way  and  the  prop- 
erty man  and  costumer  were  already  at  work  on 
the  designs  that  Elliott  furnished  gratis.  Deberg 
orchestrated  the  score. 

"  It  would  cost  me,"  shouted  Bobinot  in  a  fury, 
as  he  blue-pencilled  Elliott's  voluminous  directions 
on  each  drawing, — "  it  would  cost  me  more  than 
my  theatre  is  worth  to  make  these  costumes  accord- 
ing to  Monsieur  Elliott's  advice.  He  can  save  him- 
self literary  work,  and  me  several  sous  worth  of 
blue  pencil  by  sticking  to  his  designing  and  leav- 
ing the  execution  to  a  man  who  wears  a  head  in  the 
proper  place  !  " 

The  Theatre  Bobinot  was  flourishing.  The  "  Ser- 
ment  d'Amour,"  "  Princess  des  Canaries,"  "  Migna- 
pour,"  "  Le  Jour  et  la  Nuit,"  followed  successively 
"  Le  Panache,"  and  "  Pomme  d'Api "  of  Offenbach  ; 
and  already  in  the  programme  of  "  Les  Domestiques," 
the  comedy  by  Grange"  and  Deslandes,  appeared 
the  announcement  of  the  preparations  for  "  The 
Queen  of  Siam."  "A  comedy  in  three  acts  by 
M.  Foxhall  Clifford  and  Mile.  Claire  Plessis  ;  "  for, 
at  Bobinot's  demand,  the  "  lever  de  rideau,"  had 
been  expanded  into  a  three  act  musical  comedy. 


252  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Bobinot  said  very  little  in  praise  of  it  either  to 
Clifford  or  to  Claire,  but  he  bragged  about  it  to 
everybody  else  in  the  Latin  Quarter  as  well  as  in 
the  Montparnasse  Quarter.  He  refused  to  pay  any 
cash  for  it,  but  signed  a  contract  for  a  generous 
royalty,  and  Clifford  and  Claire  were  more  than 
satisfied.  The  former  promised  princely  sums  to 
Elliott  for  his  costume  designs  as  soon  as  the  money 
began  to  pour  in.  Elliott  was  grateful  and  re- 
doubled his  pages  of  instructions  for  Bobinot,  whose 
curses  rang  loud  and  deep  as  he  slashed  through 
them  with  his  blue  pencil. 

Clifford  took  a  good  many  days  off  from  the 
orchestra,  and,  finding  that  a  cotton-stuffed  cornet 
in  the  hands  of  the  untutored  and  unmusical  Selby 
was  perfectly  satisfactory,  took  more  days  off. 
Selby  for  his  part,  liked  the  fun  and  became  the  envy 
of  the  Quarter.  At  times,  however,  Clifford  had 
slight  clashes  with  Elliott  when  they  both  wanted 
the  same  night  off. 

"Come,  come,"  Clifford  would  urge,  "Claire  isn't 
on  to-night  you  know,  and  I've  promised  to  dine 
with  her  at  Thirion's." 

"And  I've  promised  Colette  to  meet  her  at  the 
Vachette." 

"  But  you  can  meet  her  there  to-morrow  and  I 
can't  meet  Claire  because  she  takes  Nevers'  place 
in  '  Pomme  d'  Api.'  " 

Then  Elliott  would  mutter  ;  "  the  deuce  take  you 
and  Claire  ! "  But  he  always  gave  in  and  tootled 
away  in  the  orchestra,  while  Selby,  the  delighted 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  253 

substitute  beside  him,  puffed  and  perspired  over 
a  noiseless  cotton-stuffed  cornet.  Bock,  the  be- 
sotted, never  doubted  that  both  cornets  were  play- 
ing. 

"  Thank  goodness  this  won't  last,"  thought  Elliott ; 
"  our  three  months'  poverty  is  up  on  Monday  and 
then  ! — then  this  cursed  orchestra  can  go  to  the 
devil !  " 

Rat-tat-tat —  !  rattled  Bock's  baton  as  he  glanced 
at  Elliott. 

"  Oh  you  old  ass  !  "  grumbled  Elliott,  toot !  toot ! 
— "  go  to  Guinea !  " — toot — toot — tootle — too-o-ot." 


VII. 


The  humiliating  part  of  it  was  that  neither  Clifford 
nor  Elliott  could  attend  the  rehearsals  of  "  the 
Queen  of  Siam  "  except  in  the  orchestra.  Bobinot 
was  omnipresent,  and  they  were  obliged  to  occupy 
their  places. 

Now  the  orchestra  was  sunk  in  a  pit  so  far  below 
the  footlights  that  although  the  musicians  were  visi- 
ble to  the  audience,  nothing  on  the  stage  could  be 
seen  by  the  musicians  themselves. 

When  Clifford  was  not  obliged  to  blow  his  cornet, 
he  could  hear  Claire's  sweet  voice : 

"  Oh,  papa  dear  I  much  prefer 

My  helmet  and  my  steel-ringed  shirt, 
My  jewelled  hilt,  my  gilded  spur, 

Targe,  Casque,  Tassett  and  Bassinet 


254  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

So  take  away  my  waist  and  skirt  I 

Oh,  take  away 

Oh,  take  away 
Oh-h  I  take  away  my  maiden's  skirt  I  " 

Then  he  would  stretch  and  crane  his  neck  to  see, 
but  Bock  always  caught  him  with  the  angry  rat-tat- 
tat  ! — "  he  !  la  bas  !  "  and  he  would  clutch  his  cornet 
and  breathe  music  and  anathemas.  "  It's  a  pretty 
state  of  affairs  if  I  can't  see  my  own  play,"  he  grum- 
bled to  Elliott,  "  I'll  fix  that  ass,  Bock— just  wait !  " 

When  Claire  and  Georges  Max  held  the  stage,  and 
the  repartee  made  even  the  prompter  chuckle,  Clif- 
ford's curiosity  almost  crazed  him,  and  he  cursed 
impartially,  Bobinot,  Bock,  the  orchestra  and  him- 
self. 

Claire  was  delicious,  Max  irresistible.  Clifford 
squirmed  and  listened : 

Claire ;  "  L'archeveque  !  " 

Max ;  Mais  non,  il  faut  " — 

Claire  (excited) ;  "  Qu'il  vienne  !  Qu'il  vienne  !  J'y 
suis,  J'y  reste ! — Et  quil  fait  attention  a  mes 
eperons !  " 

Max  ;  "Mais — mais — e'est  moi  l'Archiveque — " 

Claire  (much  disturbed)  ;  "  T6  !  je  le  savais  bien, 
Monseigneur ! " 

"  That's  going  to  take  like  wildfire,"  whispered 
Elliott  lowering  his  cornet ;  "  I  wish  I  could  see 
the  expression  on  Max's  face — " 

"  And  on  Claire's  !     Hear  the  prompter  laugh !  " 

"  Look  out — here  comes  the  flourish — ready — 
now  !     Enter  the  Queen,  you  know  !  " 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  255 

"  Tara — ta-ta-tata!"  wheezed  the  cornets  for  the 
entry  of  the  Queen,  while  Boissy's  snare  drum  rat- 
tled the  salute, 

Clifford  was  sulky  and  spoke  no  more  that  morn- 
ing, but  the  next  day  he  went  to  see  Selby. 

"  I'm  d d  if  I  miss  the  first  night  of  my  own 

opera,"  he  muttered. 

VIII. 

Clifford  was  determined  to  see  the  first  night's 
performance  but  he  decided  not  to  tell  Elliott,  as  that 
youth  might  also  wish  to  see  it.  No,  he  would  not 
mention  it  to  Elliott ;  he  would  quietly  arrange  it  for 
Selby  to  play  the  dummy  and  blow  a  cotton-stuffed 
cornet  beside  Elliott.  True,  the  flourish  of  trumpets 
that  was  to  announce  the  entrance  of  the  Queen 
would  be,  strictly  speaking,  a  flourish  of  one  cornet, 
but  Bock  could  never  know  and  the  audience 
wouldn't  either  for  that  matter.  So  he  spoke  to 
Selby  and  gave  him  his  stuffed  cornet. 

"There's  no  cornet  in  the  overture,  you  know — 
it's  that  stringed  affair  of  Lalo's.  You  are  to  watch 
Elliott  and  pretend  to  toot  when  he  does.  The  first 
flourish  is  when  the  Queen  comes  in,"  he  explained 
to  Selby. 

Then  he  went  to  bed,  chuckling,  for  he  had  covertly 
secured  the  last  seat  but  one  in  a  prominent  box, 
and  he  chuckled  again  as  he  thought  of  Elliott's 
fury'on  beholding  him  among  the  spectators. 

All  the  next  day  he  chuckled  too,  watching  Elliott 


256  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

furtively.  The  latter  seemed  very  unsuspicious  ;  he 
did  not  even  mention  a  wish  to  view  the  performance. 
And  at  last  the  impatiently  expected  night  arrived. 

The  Theatre  Bobinot  was  ablaze  ;  banners  waved 
from  the  mansard  ;  posters  flamed  under  the  gas  jets 
outside, — big  yellow  posters  announcing  "THE 
QUEEN  OFSIAM!" 

Inside  the  theatre  the  orchestra  was  assembling. 

IX. 

Selby  pretended  to  fuss  over  the  leaves  of  the 
score  ;  he  fiddled  with  his  cornet  a  moment,  then  he 
sat  down  and  looked  up  at  the  house. 

The  audience  was  not  what  is  termed  "brilliant," 
but  the  house  was  jammed  with  the  good  people  of 
the  Montparnasse  Quarter,  sandwiched  in  between 
hordes  of  Latin  Quarter  students,  actresses,  grisettes 
and  vivacious  young  persons  who  preside  over  the 
counters  of  the  Bon  March6  and  Grands  Magazines 
of  the  Louvre.  A  first  night  always  filled  the  little 
theatre,  box,  pit,  and  gallery,  and  the  announcement 
of  the  "  Queen  of  Siam,"  with  Mile.  Claire  Plessis, 
Mile.  Nevers  and  Max  and  Bourdeille,  had  stirred 
the  Quarter  profoundly. 

Selby  polished  the  mouthpiece  of  his  cornet  and 
called  to  Boissy,  who  left  his  snare  drum  and  came 
over. 

"Where  is  Elliott?"  he  asked. 

"  Hasn't  come  yet.  "  Oh,  you're  here  to  give 
Clifford  a  chance  ?     It's  a  good  house,  isn't  it  ?  " 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  257 

"Great,"  said  Selby  pensively,  "  I  bet  Clifford 
makes  a  lot  out  of  this.     Here  comes  old  Bock  now." 

The  leader  of  the  orchestra,  vinous  as  usual, 
emerged  from  below,  wiping  his  moustache,  and 
walked  straight  to  his  seat. 

"  I  wish  Elliott  would  hurry,"  said  Selby  nervously. 

"  There's  no  overture, — Bock  cut  it  out  because 
the  play's  long  enough." 

"  I  know — I  know,  but  there  he  is  taking  a  last 
look  at  the  gallery  and  Elliott  isn't  here.  The  thing 
begins  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets  to  the  Queen." 

As  he  spoke,  a  figure  came  out  of  the  little  door 
under  the  stage,  holding  a  cornet. 

"  Thank  goodness,"  said  Selby,  "here  he  is  now, — 
no, !  by  jingo,  it's  a  new  cornettist !  " 

The  stranger  sat  down  in  Elliott's  seat,  picked 
pensively  at  some  cotton  in  his  cornet,  and  smiled 
at  Selby. 

"  Where's  Elliott  ?  "  said  Selby  hoarsely. 

"In  that  box, — see  him?  He  wants  to  witness 
the  first  act.  He  says  " —  But  Selby  sprang  to  his 
feet,  pallid  with  fright. 

"  Can  you  play  a  cornet?  "  he  almost  shrieked. 

"  No, — can't  you  ?  "  stammered  the  new  arrival. 

Before  the  wretched  Selby  could  reply,  Bock 
rapped  for  attention  ;  there  came  three  heavy  knocks 
on  the  stage  floor  behind  the  curtain,  and,  as  the 
violins  began  the  "  Air  of  the  Petticoat,"  the  curtain 
twitched,  trembled,  and  began  to  ascend,  exposing  a 
brilliant  stage  and  dozens  of  glittering  limbs. 

Clifford  in  his  box,  gazed  at  the  chorus  in  rapture. 
17 


258  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Then,  as  the  chorus  began  to  sing,  he  felt  a  violent 
tug  at  his  coat,  and,  looking  round,  beheld  Elliott. 

"You!"  faltered  Clifford,  "what  are  you  doing 
here  ?  " 

Elliott's  face  was  shrunken  with  fright. 

"  Heavens  !  "  he  gasped,  "  they'll  miss  the  flourish  ! 
Those  fellows  can't  play  !  I — I  didn't  know  you 
had  engaged  Selby  so  I  hired  a  man  in  the  street  " 
— Clifford  was  rooted  to  the  spot ;  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  miserable  substitutes  below.  Then  his  hair 
slowly  rose  as  Max  cried  joyously : 

"  The  Queen  !  The  Queen  !  Hark — hark  to  the 
trumpets'  shrill  welcome  !  " 

A  dismal  silence  ensued.  All  eyes  were  turned 
on  the  orchestra  where  Selby  sat  frozen  stiff  with 
horror,  while  his  companion,  scarlet  in  the  face, 
cheeks  puffed  out  and  eyes  starting  from  their 
sockets,  blew  madly  into  his  cotton-stuffed  cornet 
from  which  no  sound  proceeded. 

"  Hark  !  The  trumpets  ring  again  !  "  cried  Max, 
looking  anxiously  at  Bock,  who,  speechless  and  furi- 
ous, waved  his  wand  toward  Selby. 

"  Idiots  !     Play  !  "  he  roared  at  last. 

"  We  can't  i "  gasped  Selby.  The  audience 
screamed. 

Claire  coolly  walked  to  the  footlights,  but  the  sight 
of  Selby's  face  sent  her  into  wild  uncontrollable 
laughter. 

Claire's  laughter  saved  the  piece.  The 
house  stood  by  her  from  that  moment,  and  the 
"  Queen    of  Siam  "  went  merrily  on   to  the  sound 


ENTER   THE   QUEEN.  259 

of  a  cornetless  orchestra.  For  Clifford  and  Elliott 
and  Selby  had  fled  ; — fled  away  into  the  snowy  night, 
far,  far  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

This  is  a  story  of  the  Quarter,  truer  than  it  ought 
to  be.  You  have,  doubtless,  heard  it  before.  It  is 
not  original  with  me.  I  myself  have  heard  it  told 
in  London. 

Ah!  when  shall  we  be  wise,  Madame? — When 
shall  we  learn  wisdom — we  of  the  Quartier  Mont- 
parnasse  ? 

I  could  tell  you  how  Clifford  returned  and  was 
forgiven  by,  Claire  and  Bobinot, — but  I  won't.  I 
could  tell  you  how  Clifford  presented  his  royalty 
rights  to  Claire  on  the  occasion  of  her  marriage  to 
Monsieur  Bobin — but  there! — I  nearly  told  you  a 
stage  secret !  So  I  shall  answer  no  more  questions 
— unless  you  care  to  know  about  Colette  and  Elliott 
and  Selby. 

Do  you  ? 


ANOTHER  GOOD  MAN. 


'Ah  !  d'uue  ardeur  sincere. 
Le  temps  ne  pent  distraire, 
Et  nos  plus  doux  plaisirs 
Sont  dans  nos  souvenirs. 
On  pense,  on  pense  encore 
A  celle  qu'on  adore, 
Et  Von  revient  ton  jours 
A  ses  premiers  amours.'" 


ANOTHER  GOOD  MAN. 

Une  conscience  sans  Dieu  est  un  tribunal  sans  juge. 

Lamartine. 

I. 

When  Fradley  came  to  Paris  he  renounced  liter- 
ature as  a  means  of  livelihood,  for,  although  his 
success  as  a  writer  in  "  Brooklyn  Babyhood,"  had 
been  pecuniarily  satisfying,  it  occurred  to  him  that 
painting  might  be  less  fatiguing  than  poetry,  and 
he  decided  to  adopt  it  as  his  profession. 

His  illustrations  to  his  own  rhymes  had  been,  up 
to  the  present  time,  of  archaic  simplicity,  and  were 
limited  to  pen  and  ink  productions  representing  in- 
fants afflicted  with  exaggerated  eyes  and  eyelashes. 

Young  mothers  hovered  over  the  pages  of  "  Brook- 
lyn Babyhood  "  spelling  out  his  rhymes  to  crowing 
infancy.  In  these  jingles,  children  were  told  that 
they  were  "  arch  "  and  "  cute,"  they  were  assured 
of  their  importance,  their  every  action  was  ap- 
plauded, solid  pages  of  baby-talk  were  administered, 
and  baby-ridden  Brooklyn  writhed  with  delight. 

There  were  some  people,  however,  who  revolted, 
— some  who  even  declared  that  Fradley  was  a  pub- 
lic nuisance   and    that    his  rhymes  inculcated  self- 

263 


264  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

consciousness  ;  but  these  people  were  probably  un- 
natural parents. 

When  he  wrote  his  immortal  poem,  "  How  many- 
toes  has  the  Baby?  "  the  Brooklyn  "  Banner"  pub- 
lished the  poem  in  full  with  a  portrait  of  and  a  peon 
to  "  Brooklyn's  Brilliant  Son." 

This  was  all  very  well  but  it  couldn't  last.  A 
rival  poet  from  Flatbush  got  hold  of  the  Brooklyn 
"  Star  "  and  began  a  series  cf  poems,  the  baby  talk 
of  which  made  Fradley's  most  earnest  efforts  fall 
flat.  In  vain  he  demanded  to  know  the  exact  num- 
ber of  fingers  and  toes  which  the  baby  possessed ; 
in  vain  he  cooed  and  gurgled  and  bleated  !  The 
Flatbush  poet  was  a  woman,  and  she  knew  her 
business.  When  Fradley  cooed,  she  cooed  ;  when 
Fradley  gurgled  and  bleated,  she  gurgled  and 
bleated,  backed  up  by  the  entire  staff  of  the  Brook- 
lyn "  Star."  In  vain  Fradley  called  for  a  counting 
of  toes ;  she  extended  her  researches  into  distant 
sections  of  baby's  anatomy,  and  Fradley  was 
doomed.  The  last  blow  fell  when  the  Flatbush 
poet  produced 

"BABY'S  ICKLE  TOOFY," 

which,  translated  freely,  means  "  baby's  little  tooth." 
That  settled  it.  Fickle  Brooklyn  fell  down  and 
worshipped  the  Flatbush  lady,  and  Fradley  sullenly 
packed  his  bag  and  sailed  for  France. 

When  Fradley  took  up  his  abode  in  the  Latin 
Quarter,  he   expected  that  his  arrival  would  create 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  265 

something  of  a  stir.  It  did  not.  He  waited  a 
month  for  appreciation  and  finally  asked  Garland 
what  he  thought  of  his  illustrations. 

"  I  haven't  seen  any,"  replied  Garland. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  illustrated,"  added  Carring- 
ton,  but  noticing  the  mortification  on  Fradley's  face, 
said  good-naturedly,  "You  know  we  don't  see  much 
over  here  except  the  Paris  papers  ;  what  do  you 
illustrate  for?  " 

Fradley  was  speechless. 

"  What  paper  are  they  in  ?  "  asked  Garland,  yawn- 
ing innocently. 

"  In  '  Brooklyn  Babyhood,'  "  snarled  Fradley  and 
left  the  cafe. 

Carrington,  a  modest  young  Englishman  with  a 
high  colour  and  blond  moustache,  looked  troubled. 
Garland  was  irritated. 

"  You  know,"  he  said  to  Carrington,  "  if  he  shows 
that  sort  of  temper  the  older  men  will  be  down  on 
him." 

"  It's  very  annoying,"  said  Carrington. 

"Very.  We  new  men  have  got  to  keep  pretty 
quiet  just  now  or  the  old  men  will  make  it  hot  for 
us.  This  man  Fradley  is  enough  to  turn  the  whole 
studio  against  us.  Did  you  make  the  fire  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  Clifford  was  very  decent  to 
me." 

"  He's  all  right,  but  there  are  some  of  the  older 
men  in  Julian's  who  are  spoiling  to  discipline  us. 
Did  you  notice  it  to-day  ?  " 


266  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  I  fancy  I  did,"  replied  Carrington,  swallowing 
his  beer. 

"  This  man  Fradley,"  continued  Garland,  "  is 
enough  to  queer  the  whole  batch  of  this  year's  men. 
Confound  him,  he's  effeminate." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Carrington  pleasantly. 

"Well,  I  do.  His  room  is  opposite  mine,  you 
know,  and  he's  trotting  in  and  bothering  me  all  the 
time  about  the  decorations  of  his  boudoir.  Whew  ! 
Why,  Carrington,  he  has  tied  ribbons  all  over  his 
furniture,  and  he  has  tidies  and  things  about  so  that 
you  are  afraid  to  sit  down.  I  don't  want  to  mis- 
judge the  man,  for  we  new  men  must  hang  together, 
but  I  draw  the  line  at  embroidered  night  shirts  stuck 
all  over  with  lace  and  ribbon." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Carrington,  "  does  he  do  that 
sort  of  thing?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.     He  brought  one  in  to  show  me." 

"  Maybe  it  wasn't  his,"  suggested  Carrington. 

"  Possibly  not.  It  would  have  been  more  appro- 
priate for  the  Queen  of  Sheba." 


II. 


Don't,"  said  Clifford,  "  pat  me  on  the  back  and 
tell  me  to  keep  my  shirt  on ! " 

'^Nonsense!"  said  Elliott,  "you  are  making  a 
mountain  out  of  a  mole-hill  ! 

"  And  your  language,"  said  Selby,  "  is  not  ex- 
actly—" 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  267 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  !  Now  you  listen  to  me  ;  the  Cafe 
des  Ecoles  is  no  boudoir,  and  if  a  man  can't  express 
his  views  here  then  I'm  a  fossil." 

Rowden  looked  vaguely  uneasy  and  Braith  studied 
Clifford  over  his  pipe. 

"  The  Quarter,"  continued  Clifford,  "  is  going  to 
the  devil  ;  do  you  deny  it  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Elliott  cheerfully. 

"  That  makes  no  difference — keep  cool,  Elliott,  I 
know  you  only  said  it  for  argument,  but  it  isn't 
so — " 

"  Messieurs,  you  must  make  less  noise,"  said  the 
proprietor,  hurrying  over  from  the  desk." 

"  Stop  pounding  on  the  table  and  yelling,"  said 
Clifford  to  Carroll. 

"  If  you  don't,"  observed  Elliott,  "  the  sergot 
will  come  back  and  take  our  names  again — " 

"■  For  the  last  time  too,  and  Elliott's  already  got 
three,  so  he'll  go  to  the  cooler  and  devil  a  sou  will  I 
go  bail,"  growled  Clifford  ;  "  now  listen  to  me,  you 
fellows,  if  you  want  to  know  why  the  Quarter  is 
going  to  the  bow-wows.  Just  look  at  the  crop  of  this 
year's  men  !  Are  we  going  to  put  up  with  McCloud. 
He  threw  the  proprietor  of  the  Cafe  des  Arts  out  of 
doors  and  ran  the  Caf6  himself  at  ruinous  rates  until 
the  proprietor  came  back  with  the  police.  I  paid 
his  fine." 

"Well,"  said  Elliott,  "  McCloud  is  certainly  cocky 
for  a  nouveau ! " 

"  Cocky  ?  Well  rather.  Because  he's  a  sort  of 
infant  Hercules  and  has  played  on  the  Australian 


268  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

team  is  no  reason  why  he  should  split  all  the  tables 
with  his  fist  and  do  cheap  feats  of  strength,  and 
grab  a  cab  by  the  hind  wheels  and  hold  it  with  the 
cabby  yelling  like  a  demon  and  everybody  laugh- 
ing at  me — " 

"You!" 

"  I  was  in  the  cab  ;  it  was  on  the  Boulevard  Mont- 
parnasse — " 

"  And  you  were  going — "  began  Elliott. 

"  Never  mind  where  I  was  going,"  said  Clifford 
with  dignity,  "  the  fact  remains  that  I  was  inside. 
It  was  lucky  for  McCloud  that  I  was,  for  when  a 
policeman  nipped  his  budding  humour  my  bail  came 
in  very  handy." 

"And  is  that,"  inquired  Braith  suavely,  "the 
ground  for  your  assertion  that  the  Quarter  is 
doomed  ?  " 

"Isn't  it  enough?"  demanded  Clifford; — "a 
nouveau  taking  liberties, — making  me  ridiculous  be- 
fore the  whole  Montparnasse  Quarter, — who  know 
me — every  one  of  them, — and  to  crown  all,  being 
with  a  lady — " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Elliott  tenderly.  Osborne  smirked 
and  whistled  the  devil's  quadrille,  Elliott  and  Thax- 
ton  played  phantom  trombones  with  enervating 
effect  and  Carroll  beat  madly  upon  a  bottle. 

Clifford  became  redder  and  redder.  His  unre- 
quited affection  for  that  wonderful  little  creature,  the 
new  Bullierstar,  was  a  topic  for  mirth  and  gentle  jest 
throughout  the  Latin  Quarter.  They  had  recently 
parted,  friends, — it  being  understood  that  she  liked 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  269 

him,  but  hardly  cared  to  pin  her  affections  to  a  man 
who  sat  helpless  in  a  cab  while  somebody  held  the 
hind  wheels  and  the  boulevard  laughed.  It  was  put- 
ting it  plainly  perhaps,  but  it  did  no  harm,  and  Clif- 
ford was  very  careful  to  keep  it  to  himself. 

"  You  fellows,"  observed  Clifford  scornfully,  "had 
better  stop  those  monkey  shines.  Put  down  that 
bottle,  Carroll,  or  I'll  take  it  away.  You'll  be  trying 
to  stuff  it  in  your  mouth  next.  Bite  on  the  cork,  it's 
better  for  teething." 

This  cruel  thrust  at  the  very  recent  advent  of 
Carroll  to  full-fledged  honours  in  the  studio  had  its 
effect. 

"  I  know,"  continued  Clifford,  "  that  you  all  think 
I'm  blighted,  but  you're  all  mistaken.  I'm  sure  you 
will  see  that  I  am  right  about  these  new  men  when 
I  tell  you  what  happened  at  the  studio  this  morn- 
ing. I  sat  down  in  a  front  place  and  waited  for  the 
roll  call,  and,  before  my  name  was  called,  a  thing — a 
nouveau  took  the  place  himself." 

"  What  !  "  cried  the  others  incredulously. 

"  It's  true,"  continued  Clifford,  "  this  baby — this 
nouveau  violated  all  precedent,  and,  because  his 
name  came  before  mine  on  the  list,  he  actually  had 
the  impudence  to  throw  me  down  !  " 

The  others  looked  thoughtful. 

"  That  is  going  too  far,"  observed  Elliott  gravely, 
"we  must  discipline  these  young  gentlemen." 

"  There  are  two  or  three,"  said  Thaxton,  "  who 
seem  worse  than  the  rest,  for  instance,  young 
Garland—" 


270  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Seems  to  me  that  was  the  creature's  name  who 
took  my  place,"  interrupted  Clifford. 

"  It  couldn't  be — he's  a  decent  fellow  and  makes 
the  fire  when  he's  told  to,"  said  Selby. 

"  Perhaps  he  didn't  know  you  were  an  old  man," 
suggested  Elliott. 

"  Probably  not,"  said  Carroll,  who  was  still  smart- 
ing from  the  teething  taunt,  "  Clifford  hasn't  been 
twice  in  the  studio  since  the  nouveaux  earned" 

Elliott  took  out  a  note-book  and  wrote  down 
Garland's  name. 

"  I'll  keep  an  eye  on  him,"  he  said,  "  but  there  is 
another  little  wretch  who  ought  to  have  an  example 
made  of  him  at  once." 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Clifford. 

"  I  believe  his  name  is  Fradley,"  replied  Elliott 
lighting  a  cigar. 

"  Then  we'll  fix  Fradley,"  muttered  Clifford. 
"  Who  cares  for  a  game  of  billiards  ?  " 

III. 

The  roll  call  was  over  at  Julian's  and  every  place 
had  been  marked  in  white  chalk  on  the  floor.  The 
model  in  the  first  studio  had  profited  by  the  con- 
fusion attendant  on  the  distribution  of  bread,  colours 
and  canvasses,  and,  shuffling  into  his  trousers  and 
slippers,  strolled  into  the  second  studio  of  Boulan- 
ger  and  Lefevre  to  investigate  the  cause  of  the 
uproar  which  had  arisen  and  which  continued  with 
increasing;  violence. 


ANOTHER   GOOD   MAN.  21/! 

The  studio  was  packed  with  yelling  students, 
some  mounted  on  tabourets,  some  on  the  old  dust- 
chest  by  the  door,  others  on  the  stove  and  model 
stand.  From  Doucet's  two  studios  a  delegation 
had  arrived,  all  of  the  Sculptors  and  most  of  Bou- 
guereau's  men  were  there,  and  the  noise  was  terrific. 
A  big  blond  fellow  wearing  the  uniform  of  a  cuiras- 
sier seemed  to  be  directing  things,  and  his  bellows 
shook  the  windows  and  rattled  the  bones  on  "  Pierre," 
the  battered  studio  skeleton. 

The  clerk  came  in  and  remonstrated,  but  Clifford 
put  him  out  and  locked  the  glass  door,  leaving  him 
gesticulating  and  taking  names  as  fast  as  he  could 
write.  Then  Jules  peeped  in,  smiled  sadly  and  beck- 
oned to  Boissy,  the  cuirassier  massier.  Boissy 
opened  the  door  and  explained  that  they  were  only 
"  organising."  That  was  sufficient,  and  Jules  and 
the  clerk  withdrew. 

When  the  classic  halls  of  Julian's  echoed  with  de- 
moniac screams,  cat-calls,  and  howls — when  voices 
were  uplifted  in  every  language  except  German,  and 
the  thickets  of  easels  were  mowed  down  in  rows  by 
some  playful  boot-heel,  it  was  generally  an  indica- 
tion that  the  students  were  "  organising."  They 
had  a  passion  for  organising,  and  they  seldom  failed 
to  indulge  it.  Just  now  they  were  organising  under 
the  leadership  of  that  strange  creature,  Sara,  also 
known  as  "  La  Rousse,"  who  was  generally  the  root 
of  all  mischief  in  the  Quarter.  She  stood  on  the 
model  stand  beside  Boissy,  her  fiery  red  hair  coiled 
along  her  neck,  her  wonderful  white  skin  glistening, 


272  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

her  mysterious  face  bathed  in  the  sunshine  which 
streamed  down  from  the  glass  roof  above. 

With  an  inscrutable  smile  she  studied  the  massed 
faces  below  her.  Occasionally  her  eyes  rested  on 
some  new  man,  who  never  failed  to  feel  uncomfort- 
able and  look  at  the  floor  until  the  grayish-green 
eyes  swept  in  another  direction.  Sara  was  haughty 
at  best.  In  her  sunniest  smiles  lurked  the  lightning 
of  scorn,  and  in  all  her  brief  "  affairs,"  the  caprice 
of  passion  never  disturbed  her  astounding  egotism, 
never  lowered  the  imperious  head,  never  drove  the 
shadow  of  irony  from  her  scarlet  lips. 

Boissy  shouted  for  silence,  and  banged  on  the  floor 
with  his  spurred  heels,  but  nobody  paid  attention 
until  the  girl  took  a  step  forward  and  held  up  both 
pink  palms  as  if  to  shield  her  ears  from  the  pande- 
monium.    That  was  sufficient. 

Then  with  a  nod  to  Boissy,  who  straightened  his 
epaulettes  and  looked  fierce,  she  began  very  quietly. 

"  Messieurs  il  s'agit — "  when  an  unlucky  nouveau 
fell  off  a  stool  and  crashed  to  the  floor  carrying 
several  easels  with  him.  He  was  mobbed  at  once 
amid  cries  of  "  Silence,  cochon !  Down  with  the 
Nouveau  !     Vive  Sara  !  " 

"  C'est  epatant,"  observed  Sara  with  superb 
scorn,  "  fiche  moi  cet  nouveau  au  clou  !  " 

No  sooner  said  than  the  unlucky  youth  was  seized 
and  hustled  toward  the  dust-chest  amid  cries  of  "  au 
clou  !  au  clou  !  " 

Elliott  opened  the  lid  of  the  dust-chest  and  looked 
at  Boissy. 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  273 

"  What's  his  name,"  growled  Boissy. 

"  Freddie  Fradley,"  replied  Elliott,  "  shall  he  go 
in?" 

Fradley  screamed  and  struggled,  but  at  a  sign 
from  Sara  they  shoved  him  in,  and,  inserting  some 
mahl-sticks  under  the  lid  to  give  him  air,  requested 
"  Fatty  "  Carriere  to  sit  on  the  top,  which  he  did 
with  alacrity.  Sara  tossed  her  glittering  hair  and 
continued,  undeterred  by  the  faint  screams  from 
the  chest : 

"  Messieurs,  you  all  know  that  on  the  night  of  the 
Mi-Careme,  it  is  the  custom  of  our  studio  to  go  en 
masse,  to  the  Bullier.  Messieurs,  the  massiers  of  all 
the  studios  have  decided  to  honour  me  with  an  es- 
cort, but — "laughing  proudly,  "that  is  the  diffi- 
culty !  All  of  you  wish  to  go  with  me,  which  you 
know  very  well  is  impossible.  Are  there  not  other 
girls  in  the  Quarter  ?  " 

"No!"  shouted  the  students  in  a  spasm  of  gal- 
lantry. 

She  opened  her  arms  with  a  peculiarly  graceful 
motion.  "  You  know  that  I  adore  you  all, — all  the 
Julian  men,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  show  favouritism — " 

"  Vive  Sara !  Vive  la  Rousse  !  "  came  thunder- 
ing from  the  students  and  was  echoed  by  stifled 
yells  from  the  dust-chest. 

"  Fatty  "  Carriere  banged  on  the  lid  and  uttered 
awful  threats  against  Fradley 's  health  unless  he 
ceased.  Sara  smiled.  "  No,  no  favouritism,"  she 
said — "  mais — mais  comment  faire  ?  " 

"  Take  us  all  as  escorts  !  "  cried  Clifford,  and  the 


274  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Frenchmen  understood  and  took  up  the  cry — "  en 
choisisez  pas  !  nous  voulons  aller  tons  !  " 

The  girl's  eyes  sparkled,  and  she  shook  her  head 
at  Clifford.     "  Monsieur  the  incorrigible  !  " 

Clifford  waved  his  hat  and  cried, — "  C'estentendu 
alors  !     Vive  Sara  !  " 

"  Mais  non,  mon  petit  Clifford,"  smiled  the  girl, 
"  c'est  impossible — " 

"  Not  at  all,"  exclaimed  Boissy  with  a  reckless 
laugh,  "  Clifford  and  I — we  will  arrange  that  !  " 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Clifford,  "  we'll  fix  the 
police." 

Then  bedlam  broke  loose,  and  impromptu  quad- 
rilles began,  and  "  Fatty  "  Carriere,  unwilling  to  lose 
his  share  of  the  dance,  hastily  locked  the  chest, 
punched  some  air  holes  in  the  lid,  oblivious  of  the 
danger  which  Fradley  would  run  if  anybody  sat 
down  on  them,  and  went  lumbering  and  gyrating 
about  until  his  elephantine  gambols  shook  the 
building. 

Shortly  afterward,  the  fatherly  Monsieur  Julian 
appeared,  softly  suggesting  that  work  should  begin, 
and  ten  minutes  later  the  seats  were  full,  the  models 
posed  in  the  various  rooms,  and  the  scrape  of  char- 
coal and  palette  knife  alone  broke  the  quiet  of  the 
studio. 

Clifford,  who  had  missed  the  morning  roll-call, 
roamed  about  looking  for  a  place.  There  appeared 
to  be  none.  The  lines  of  easels  radiating  in  circles 
from  the  model-stand  were  all  occupied.  He  glared 
at  the  nouveaux. 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  275 

"  This  is  disgusting,"  he  observed  to  Elliott ! 
"  fancy  a  four-year  man  hunting  a  place  and  those 
fool  nouveaux  squatting  on  the  tabourets!  " 

"  Come  in  time, — it's  the  only  way  now,"  replied 
Elliott. 

"  Here  is  a  place,  Mr.  Clifford,"  said  Garland  who 
was  sitting  in  the  front  row.  Clifford  threaded  his 
way  among  the  easels  to  his  side. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,"  he  said  ;  "  whose  name 
is  that  on  the  floor  ?  " 

"  Fradley's,"  said  Garland.  Clifford  rubbed  it  out 
and  substituted  his  own  signature. 

"This  begins  Fradley's  discipline,"  he  muttered, 
and  called  to  Ciceri  to  bring  him  his  portfolio. 
Then  he  looked  at  Garland  and  was  prepossessed  in 
his  favor. 

"You're  a  nouveau,  are  you  not?"  he  asked 
amiably  ;  "what  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Garland." 

"  Mine  is  Clifford." 

"  Oh,  we  all  know  that,"  laughed  Garland. 

"Oh,  you  do!  "  said  Clifford,  "  and  how  the  devil 
do  you  know  it?  " 

Garland  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  mention  the 
cab  incident,  and  Clifford  picked  up  his  charcoal  and 
squinted  at  the  model. 

"  I  hear,"  said  Garland,  "  that  you  older  men  are 
going  to  discipline  us." 

"  We  are,"  said  Clifford  calmly. 

"Why?" 

"  Well,    you    see,    we   usually   receive   a   certain 


276  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

amount  of  respect  and  deference  from  new  men,  and 
before  you  fellows  came  nobody  ever  heard  of  a 
nouveau  turning  an  old  man  out  of  his  seat." 

Carrington  looked  up  from  his  easel.  "  I  am  a 
nouveau,"  he  said,  "and  I  think,  Mr.  Clifford,  you 
will  find  that  the  nouveaux  respect  the  traditions  of 
the  studio." 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  insisted  Garland. 

Clifford  looked  at  him  coldly.  "  Didn't  you  turn 
me  out  last  week?"  he  demanded. 

"  I,"  cried  Garland,  "  never  !  " 

"  Fradley  did,"  said  Cary,  "  and  I  noticed  it  at 
the  time  and  wondered  why  you  didn't  spank  him, 
Clifford." 

"  Well,  by  Jove !  "  exclaimed  Clifford,  "  I  thought 
it  was  you,  Garland." 

"  I  know  you  did,"  replied  Garland  indignantly, 
"  and  a  pretty  life  I've  led  with  Rowden  and  Elliott 
and  all  the  concour  men  making  it  hot  for  me.  I 
respect  the  traditions  and  always  will." 

"  Then  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Clifford  cordially, 
"  come  and  see  me  at  my  studio." 

All  the  nouveaux  knew  what  that  meant.  It  in- 
dicated that  Garland  would  soon  be  released  from 
menial  work,  and  would  find  himself  in  the  charmed 
circle  of  the  powers  that  be. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Clifford,  "there  is  that  fellow 
Fradley  in  the  dust  chest.  Hadn't  I  better  let  him 
out?" 

"  Has  he  enough  air?"  asked  Selby. 

"  Plenty.     I  bored  some  more  holes  just  now  and 


ANOTHER   GOOD   MAN.  277 

asked  him  how  he  felt.  He  said  I  was  no  gentle- 
man." 

"  He  says,"  said  Rowden,  "  that  it's  a  disgrace  to 
his  family  and  a  blot  on  his  honour.  He's  an  excit- 
able customer  and  screams  like  a  cat  when  addressed 
through  the  air-holes  in  the  lid." 

"  Oh,  let  him  out,"  said  Clifford. 

"No,  he  must  be  taught  decency.  He's  been 
here  three  months,  and  that's  long  enough  for  the 
studio  to  size  him  up." 

"  Why  did  you  put  him  in  ?  "  asked  Garland. 

"  Because,"  replied  Elliott,  "  he  made  a  racket 
trying  to  go  out  when  Sara  was  speaking." 

"  He  couldn't  help  it,  he  fell  off  the  stool ;  let  him 
out,"  said  Clifford. 

"  No,  he  must  understand  that  this  studio  won't  tol- 
erate a  sneak.  Did  you  know  that  he  went  to  old  Jul- 
ian with  tales  of  our  doings  and  said  that  for  his  part 
he  never  met  such  a  rude  and  vulgar  set  of  men  be- 
fore? He  said  he  had  not  come  to  Paris  to  listen 
to  models  make  speeches,  but  had  expected  to  find 
a  refined  and  elevating  art  atmosphere.  He  insisted 
that  he  could  not  draw  if  the  studio  was  noisy,  and 
he  asked  old  Julian  to  stop  the  racket.  Fancy  the 
expression  on  Julian's  face  !  " 

Clifford's  face  was  a  study.  "  What  impudence," 
he  said,  "  what  did  Julian  do  ?  " 

"  He  ?  Oh,  he  told  him  that  he  was  not  obliged 
to  stay  ;  that  there  were  other  schools  in  Paris." 

Clifford  turned  to  his  drawing  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.     "  Let  him  sit  in  the  box  then,"  he  mut- 


278  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

tered,  steadying  his  plumb  line  with  the  end  of  his 
pencil ;  "  dust-chest  discipline  won't  hurt  him  !  " 

Clifford  was  a  clever  draughtsman.  The  nouveaux 
watched  him  in  respectful  admiration  as  he  con- 
structed his  study,  indicated  a  shadow  here  and 
there,  and  then,  dusting  the  paper,  rapidly  sketched 
in  the  essential  outlines  and  began  to  model  the 
head  with  a  vigour  and  dash  which  did  not  at 
all  detract  from  its  value  as  a  serious  academic 
study. 

Mid-day  struck,  and  there  was  a  scramble  for  hats 
and  a  rush  for  the  stairs.  Bouguereau's  men  came 
trampling  out  of  their  atelier  with  the  studio  band 
at  their  head  and  the  studio  mascot,  a  pale-eyed 
goat  named  "  Tapage,"  bringing  up  the  rear.  Fol- 
lowing Bouguereau's  atelier  came  Doucet's  two 
rooms  and  behind  them  Chapu's  sculptors.  The 
stairs  were  jammed,  and  as  Clifford  was  in  a  hurry 
to  get  his  luncheon,  he  persuaded  "  Tapage "  to 
butt  the  passage  clear,  which  the  goat  was  only  too 
glad  to  do,  for  he  smelled  the  appetising  odour  of 
brown  paper  and  cabbage  leaves  in  the  court 
below. 

When  Clifford  had  reached  the  restaurant  on  the 
corner  of  the  boulevard  he  remembered  that  Frad- 
ley  was  still  in  the  dust-bin.  "  The  deuce  ! "  he 
muttered,  "  I've  got  to  go  back  and  let  the  beggar 
out  ! " 

Sara,  who  had  been  posing  in  the  second  studio 
for  the  concour  men  had  also  forgotten  Fradley,  and 
it  was  only  when  she  had  finished  dressing  and  stood 


ANOTHER    GOOD    MAN.  279 

alone  in  the  studio  twisting  up  her  burnished 
tresses,  that  a  rustling  in  the  dust-chest  behind  her 
recalled  Fradley's  existence  to  her  mind. 

"  B'en  vrai  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  forgot  you,  my 
friend  !  "  and  she  stooped  and  drawing  the  bolt 
lifted  the  heavy  lid.  Fradley  was  squatting  in  a 
corner  of  the  chest. 

"  Ah  !  mais  ca — c'est  trop  fort !  "  she  cried  in 
self-reproach  ;  "  I  am  so  sorry." 

Fradley  snarled. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  curiously  for  a  moment 
and  then  began  to  laugh.  "  To  think  that  we  all 
should  have  forgotten  you,  my  poor  friend  !  I  shall 
scold  Boissy  and  Clifford — oh — they  shall  catch  it ! 
Do  you  know  you  are  very  dusty  ?  " 

Fradley  arose  and  surveyed  his  cuffs.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  mirror  and  grew  giddy  with  rage. 
His  long,  artistically  arranged  hair  was  full  of  straws, 
and  his  thin  egotistical  features  bore  little  resem- 
blance to  Byron's  at  twenty,  which  he  was  confi- 
dent they  did  when  not  smeared  with  soot. 

"  The  rude,  ungentlemanly  creatures  !  The  horrid 
brutes?"  he  cried.  "I  will  complain  to  Julian,  I 
will  have  them  dismissed — " 

"Comment?"  said  the  girl. 

Then  Fradley  plunged  into  the  French  language. 

"  Vooly  voo  donny  moi — er — a — rest,  or  vooly  voo 
pas!  Je  swee  tray  fachy, — er — er — tray,  tray 
fachy !  " 

"  You  are  angry  ?     Mais  mon  petit,  tu  as  raison  !  " 

Fradley  eyed  her  with  animosity.     "  C'est   votre 


280  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

faut ! "  he  said;  "  Je  dirais  Musseer  Julian  toot 
sweet !  " 

"Comment?"  inquired  Sara. 

"  Wee  !  Wee  !  "  he  said  with  a  venomous  glance 
at  her,  "  vooz  avvy  mis  moi  dans  cette  boite  !  "  She 
did  not  understand  his  accusation,  but  she  laughed 
wickedly  and  marched  straight  up  to  him.  Before 
he  knew  what  she  was  about  she  had  deliberately 
thrown  her  arms  about   his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"There,"  she  said  calmly,  "we  must  not  be  ene- 
mies, mon  petit ;  now  I  forgive  you  for  making  a 
racket  when  I  was  trying  to  speak,  and  you  may 
tell  the  whole  atelier  that  Sara  has  kissed  you." 
Then  with  an  imperious  nod  she  marched  out  of  the 
studio  leaving  Fradley  petrified. 

A  few  moments  later  Clifford  came  in  and  found 
him  still  motionless,  gaping  vacantly. 

"  Oh,  you're  out,  eh  ?  "  said  Clifford.  Fradley 
paid  no  attention  to  this  salute,  but  stared  at  the 
door  through  which  Sara  had  disappeared. 

Clifford  eyed  him  for  a  moment  and  then  sat  down 
on  the  chest. 

"Fradley,"  he  said,  "  you  listen  to  me  and  I'll 
give  you  a  pointer  or  two  concerning  this  studio. 
Be  manly  and  you'll  get  along.  Don't  kick  against 
tradition.  Better  men  than  either  of  us  have  con- 
formed to  the  customs  here  and  filled  the  stove  and 
searched  for  the   '  grand  reflecteur  '  on   dark  days." 

He  looked  hard  at  Fradley.  "  You  had  better 
conform  to  custom  or  go  somewhere  else.  We  sel- 
dom haze  here, — we  never  haze  a  manly  man,  and  if 


ANOTHER   GOOD   MAN.  28 1 

you  know  anything  about  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts 
you  will  appreciate  what  I  say." 

Fradley  was  looking  at  him,  but  something  in  his 
eyes  told  Clifford  he  was  not  listening. 

Then  Clifford  rose,  disgusted,  and  swung  out 
through  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs,  leaving  Fradley 
in  an  imbecile  trance. 


IV. 


Fradley  had  delicate  tastes.  His  rooms  were 
hung  with  pale  green  draperies,  tidies  lay  on  every 
divan,  and  his  initials  were  embroidered  on  his 
pillow  shams.     He  worked  very  little  at  the  studio. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  he  told  Garland  ;  "  mere 
painting  doesn't  make  an  artist, — it's  experience ; 
an  artist  must  be  broad  !  "  So  Fradley  began  the 
process  of  broadening  by  going  to  theatres,  con- 
certs, exhibitions  and  museums.  He  also  presented 
letters  of  introduction  to  families  who  maintained 
nourishing  tables.  There  was  one  thing  about  him 
that  Garland  could  not  understand.  Fradley  was 
thin,  very  thin,  but  he  ate  ravenously,  and  Garland, 
eyeing  him  from  his  meagre  face  to  his  spindle 
shanks,  wondered  why  he  did  not  grow  stouter. 

"  It's  most  extraordinary,"  he  said  to  Carrington, 
"  the  fellow  eats  like  a  pig  and  grows  thin  on  it. 
It's  very  disagreeable  to  me.  I  wish  he'd  stop  com- 
ing in  here  every  evening." 

"You're  too  severe  on  him,"  said  Carrington. 

"  I  am  ?     Well  just  wait  until  he  begins  visiting 


282  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

you  with  a  roll  of  manuscript  poems  to  read.  By 
Jove,  he  nearly  drives  me  idiotic  !  " 

"  Oh,  he's  a  very  decent  fellow,"  said  Carrington  ; 
"  he's  a  man  of  splendid  morals — " 

" — According  to  himself,"  said  Garland.  "  Since 
he  arrived  in  the  Quarter  he  has  not  missed  an  even- 
ing in  telling  us  how  he  scorns  the  immoral  students 
of  this  immoral  Quarter,  and  how  innocent  and  pure 
he  is  himself.  I  take  no  stock  in  that  sort  of  thing. 
You  and  I  are  morally  decent,  but  we  don't  sound 
trumpets  on  that  account. 

Carrington  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  said 
diffidently  ;  "  I'm  rather  sorry  for  him  ;  he  isn't 
popular,  you  know.  I  think  we  ought  to  be  friendly 
to  him." 

"It's  his  own  fault  that  he  is  unpopular." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  anyway  I  might  as  well  tell  you 
that  he  asked  us  to  come  to  see  him  to-night.  I  ac- 
cepted." 

"Good  heavens,"  groaned  Garland,  "he's  sure  to 
read  us  a  poem." 

"What  of  it?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  stand  it  if  you  can.  I'm  tired  and 
cross,  but  if  you  have  accepted  that  settles  it." 

"  It's  nine  o'clock,"  said  Carrington,  glancing  at 
his  watch,  "we  might  as  well  go  now  and  get  away 
early.  I'm  dead  tired  myself.  Come  on,  old  chap, 
and  face  the  music.  We  nouveaux  should  stick  to- 
gether !  " 

"  You're    d n  democratic    for  an    aristocrat," 

laughed  Garland,  following  him  across  the  hallway  to 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  283 

Fradley's  door.  They  found  Fradley  sitting  before 
the  piano.  He  could  not  play  the  piano,  but  he  had 
an  enervating  habit  of  striking  single  notes  with 
one  finger  which  filled  Garland  with  murderous  in- 
clinations. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Fradley  in  affected  surprise,  "  Gar- 
land?— and  Lord  Ronald  Carrington — " 

"  How  are  you,  Fradley,"  said  Carrington  hastily, 
"  trot  out  your  verses,  for  Garland  and  I  are  going  to 
sport  our  oak  directly — we're  dead  beat  from  the 
studio  concour." 

Carrington  had  worked  modestly  in  the  Quarter 
for  months,  living  under  his  name  of  Carrington 
with  no  prefix,  for  he  hated  notoriety  and  fuss,  and 
was  perfectly  aware  that  a  fuss  would  be  made  over 
him  if  people  discovered  him  to  be  identical  with 
the  young  Lord  Carrington  who  led  his  company  so 
gallantly  in  Burmah,  He  had  resigned  from  the 
service  to  study  art,  and  he  worked  hard  and  faith- 
fully to  make  up  for  lack  of  ability.  It  took  Fradley 
to  discover  his  title  and  identity  and,  much  to  Car- 
rington's  chagrin,  he  spread  the  glad  news  and  fell 
down  and  worshipped. 

"  Come,"  said  Garland,  "let's  hear  your  verses. 
Got  anything  to  smoke  ?  " 

"You  may  smoke,"  murmured  Fradley,  in  a 
trance  before  Carrington,  "  for  Lord  Carrington 
smokes — " 

"  For  goodness,  sake  call  me  Carrington,"  said 
Ronald,  "  and  give  us  some  tobacco  will  you  ? " 

Fradley  produced  his  tobacco  and  then  began  to 


284  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

glide  about  the  room  tidying  things,  arranging 
knick-knacks,  dusting  albums,  until  Garland  shud- 
dered. 

"  Come,  Fradley,"  he  said,  as  amiably  as  he  could, 
"  trot  out  your  grog  and  poetry  and  let's  get  to  bed. 
You  know  we  only  have  to-morrow  on  the  concour 
and  we  must  get  up  early." 

Fradley  tripped  over  to  the  piano,  found  his 
manuscript,  tripped  back  again  to  the  fireplace,  sat 
down,  throwing  one  lank  leg  over  the  other,  and 
coughed  gently. 

"  It's  only  a  trifle — a  little  thing  I  finished  to- 
night.    Let  me  read  it  to  you." 

Garland,  aghast  at  the  bulky  manuscript,  lighted 
a  cigar  and  gave  himself  up  to  gloom.  Carrington 
settled  back  in  his  chair  and  determined  to  enjoy  it. 

"  It  is  entitled,  '  The  Kiss  of  Sin,' "  observed 
Fradley. 

"  Oh,  fin-de-siecle  ?  inquired  Carrington. 

"  I  thought  you  were  opposed  to  immorality," 
said  Garland. 

"  This  is  moral !  "  gasped  Fradley,  "  do  you  think 
I  would — " 

"  No — no !  go  on,  old  fellow,"  said  Carrington. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,"  muttered  Garland. 

Then  with  a  smile  the  poet  began  : 

"  Her  burnished  hair  is  red  as  flame, 
Her  red  lips  burn  like  fire, 
And  she  has  pressed  the  kiss  of  shame, 
Upon  my  lips.     Am  I  to  blame  ? 
Away,  bold  siren !     Learn  to  tame 
Thy  culpable  desire  !  " 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  285 

"  Now  is  that  immoral  ?  "  asked  Fradley. 

Ronald  was  dozing,  eyes  wide  open. 

"  No,"  said  Garland,  "  that's  harmless  ;  go  on," 
and  he  curled  himself  up  in  the  armchair  and  thought 
of  Sara  La  Rousse.  The  poem  was  in  cantos  and 
they  were  numerous.  Some  cantos  were  tearful, 
some  tempestuous.  Many  paid  beautiful  tribute  to 
temperance,  such  as  the  verse  beginning: 

"Away!  away!  with  the  rose-wreathed  cup  ! " 

A  little  further  along,  Fradley's  morals  tottered,  for 
the  lines, 

"Oh,  never  shall  lips  of  mine  be  pressed 
To  thy  wicked  mouth  or  thy  sinful  breast !  " 

were  almost  immediately  followed  by : 

"  Beautiful  creature,  fly  with  me  ! 
I'll  build  thee  a  house  'neath  the  hawthorn  tree." 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  gave  her  the  shake  !  " 
interrupted  Garland  querulously.  Carrington  woke 
up  at  the  same  moment  and  looked  terribly  ashamed 
of  himself. 

"  Very  charming,"  he  murmured,  "  it's  about  Sara, 
isn't  it  ?" 

Fradley  blushed.  "  Oh,  no — er — it's  only  a  poetic 
fancy." 

"Any  red-headed  girl — eh?  "  said  Garland  rising; 
"  well,  I  am  awfully  obliged  to  you, — we'll  have  the 
rest  of  it  soon  I  hope — come  along,  Ronald." 

Fradley  accompanied  them  to  the  door. 


286  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

"  Are  you  going  to  that — that  orgie  at  the  Bal 
Bullier  on  Mi-Careme?  "  he  asked. 

"I  am,"  said  Garland. 

"Are  you?"  he  asked  of  Carrington. 

"Oh, yes,  I  suppose  so  ;  everybody  else  is  going." 

"  And  do  you  think  it  right  ?  " 

"  No — it's  not  decent ;  you  would  not  enjoy  it," 
said  Garland  with  a  malicious  smile.     "  Don't  go." 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  know,"  murmured  Frad- 
ley  ;  "an  artist  must  be  broad — " 

"  Especially  when  he's  abroad — " 

"  Oh,  come  on  !  "  grumbled  Carrington, — "  good 
night,  Fradley,  awfully  obliged  you  know." 

The  poet  entered  his  boudoir  and  lighting  a  wax 
candle  looked  at  himself  in  the  mirror.  He  smoothed 
his  love-locks,  touched  his  lips  with  glycerine,  and 
crawling  into  an  embroidered  night-shirt  sank  lan- 
guidly upon  the  bed,  pulling  the  silken  coverlet  over 
his  ears.     Then  he  began  to  think  of  Sara. 


V. 


From  the  Seine  to  the  Bullier,  the  Boulevard  St. 
Michel  lay  glistening  under  the  frosty  stars.  On 
the  fountain  in  the  Place  St.  Michel,  the  iron  grif- 
fins which  spat  water  all  summer  into  the  basin  below, 
sat  grim  and  helpless,  jaws  and  claws  bound  in  chains 
of  ice.  Above  them  victorious  St.  Michel  lifted  the 
flat  of  his  sword  to  spank  a  prostrate  Satan  whose 
nether  limbs  were  now  mercifully  padded  with  snow. 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  287 

The  Boulevard,  packed  from  gutter  to  gutter, 
echoed  with  the  fanfare  of  Carnival.  Cabs  crowded 
along  five  deep ;  tram-cars  and  omnibuses  wheezed 
and  tooted  and  ploughed  their  way  through  the  con- 
stantly increasing  throngs. 

With  mask  and  horn  andmirliton  the  crowd  swept 
through  the  boulevard,  while  from  the  terraces 
and  windows  of  every  cafe,  students  sprawled,  and 
shouted  and  chanted  strange  anthems  to  celebrate 
the  Mi-Careme. 

The  Cafe  Vachette  was  festooned  with  gas  jets, 
the  Cafe  de  la  Source  glowed  under  clusters  of  elec- 
tric globes,  the  Cafes  d'Harcourt  and  Rouge  were 
ablaze  with  lanterns  and  electricity,  and  the  ice- 
covered  fountain  in  the  Place  de  Medici  flashed  back 
from  its  crystalline  basin  a  million  sparkling  rays  of 
blue  and  gold.  On  top  of  the  hill  the  Bullier  rose 
terraced  with  coloured  lamps,  bathed  in  a  flood  of 
electric  light,  which  traced  a  trembling  network  of 
shadows  over  the  asphalt  among  the  trees  of  the 
Avenue  de  L'Observatoire.  And  among  the  shad- 
ows which  the  branches  flung  across  the  parkway, 
partly  concealed  by  the  terrace  of  the  cafe  which 
forms  the  angle  of  the  avenue,  a  figure,  enveloped 
in  a  sealskin  overcoat,  shivered  and  peered  across 
the  square  to  where  the  frivolous  and  godless  were 
pouring  along  the  sidewalk  to  the  Bullier.  On  they 
swept,  with  horn  and  song  and  the  rattle  of  canes  on 
bench  and  shutter  ;  and  past  them  dashed  cab  after 
cab,  halting  for  an  instant  at  the  entrance,  while 
visions  of  light  draperies  and  lighter  feet  sped  across 


288  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

the  foyer  to  the  cloak-room.  Now  a  band  of  archi- 
tects arrived,  chanting  the  slogan  of  Lalou,  now 
a  masked  company  of  artists  in  blouse  and  beret, 
locking  arms  with  a  dozen  of  the  gentler  sex.  At 
times  the  throng  closed  about  some  favourite  who 
immediately  mounted  a  boulevard  bench  to  ha- 
rangue them  on  the  evil  of  being  serious. 

The  figure  in  the  sealskin  overcoat  appeared  to  be 
interested,  and  ventured  a  little  way  along  the  square, 
but  was  almost  immediately  frightened  back  by  the 
voice  of  a   compatriot,  inebriated   but    melodious  ; 

"  He  didn't  come  back  no  more. 
N— o!" 
He  didn't  come  more. 

"  N — n  she  sat  by  the  fire — hie  I  " 

It  was  Arizona. 

"  N — n  she  sat  by  the  fire — " 

here  memory  proved  treacherous,  and,  after  several 
attempts  to  recall  the  fate  of  the  abandoned  one, 
Arizona  jerked  a  large  felt  hat  over  one  eye, 
squared  his  shoulders,  advanced  his  lower  jaw  and 
began  to  yell.  "  Come  an'  pick  up  the  dead — aw  ! 
Come  an'  rescue  the  dyin' !  It's  my  night  to 
howl,  an'  a  souvenir  goes  with  each  an'  every 
corpse  !  " 

Across  the  square  somebody  in  the  crowd  shouted  : 
"  Arizona,  shut  up  !  " 

"  Was  that  ?  "  demanded  Arizona  indignantly  ; 
and,  encircling  a  tree  with  one  arm,  he  started  the 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  289 

other  in  a  rapid  rotary  motion  increasing  in  velocity 
until  it  looked  like  an  extinct  Catherine-wheel. 

"What's  the  matter,  Arizona  ?  "  asked  Garland 
who  came  running  across  the  street  ;  "  you  know 
you  mustn't  yell  like  that  in  English." 

"A  souvenir  goes  with  each  corpse,"  said  Arizona 
sullenly,  "  I'm  a  pitiless  wolf — " 

"  You're  a  pitiful  ass,"  said  Clifford,  coming  up, 
"  whom  are  you  scrapping  with  now  ?  " 

"  If  I  find  him  I'll  jump  on  to  his  neck,"  said 
Arizona  sulkily. 

"  He  means  Fradley,"  said  Elliott  to  Clifford, 
"  he's  jealous  because  Sara  forbade  him  to  assault 
Fradley." 

The  figure  in  the  sealskin  coat  shuddered  behind 
his  tree. 

"  Arizona,  my  son,"  said  Clifford,  "  you're  a 
nouveau  yet,  and  you'd  better  not  make  yourself  too 
conspicuous.  You're  drunk  too,  and  if  I  catch  you 
trying  to  get  into  the  Bullier  I'll  settle  with  you  in 
a  way  you'll  remember.  Give  me  that  six-shooter 
— quick.  Now  don't  try  any  of  your  cheap  cow- 
boy humor  in  the  Latin  Quarter.     Go  home." 

"  Look  yere,  Clifford,"  said  Arizona,  "  I'm  a  noovo 
but  I  ain't  no  slouch,  an'  you  fellows  never  have  to 
tell  me  to  be  less  fresh.  Now  I — hie  ! — I  objec'  to 
Fradley  chasin'  Sara — " 

"  You  have  no  claims  on  Sara,"  said  Elliott  laugh- 
ing. 

"  All  right,  then  I  hain't,  but  I  objec'  to  that  fool- 
hen  Fradley  scratchin'  alkali  in  my  sage-bush. 
x9 


29O  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

Mebbe  Sara  ain't  my  business  ;  but  I'm  doin'  dooty 
about  thet  there  public  claim,  an'  I'm  death  on 
jumpers  like  him  !  " 

At  that  moment  the  uproar  on  the  boulevard 
was  redoubled.  A  battalion  of  singing  students, 
each  clad  in  evening  dress  over  which  was  draped  a 
white  blouse,  was  advancing  from  the  Boulevard 
Montparnasse. 

"  Come  on,  Garland, — Arizona,  go  home  !  "  said 
Clifford,  and  he  hurried  across  the  square  to  join 
the  procession,  followed  by  Elliott  and  Garland. 

In  the  middle  of  the  procession,  enthroned  upon 
the  roof  of  a  cab  sat  Sara.  She  was  engaged  in  ex- 
ploding squibs  while  Boissy  held  the  terrified  horse 
down  to  a  sideway  prance.  Behind  the  cab  marched 
Julian's  young  hopefuls,  singing  "  Lc  Bal  h  V Hotel 
de  Ville."  Sara  fired  a  whole  bunch  of  squibs  as 
the  cab  came  to  a  halt  before  the  statue  of  Marshal 
Ney,  then,  as  it  moved  on  into  the  flare  of  light, 
a  mighty  shout  arose  ;  "  Vive  Sara  !  "  to  which 
that  young  person  politely  replied,  "  Vive  l'atelier 
Julien  !  " 

A  moment  later  Sara  and  her  cohorts  were  en- 
gulfed in  the  throng  passing  through  the  foyer  of 
the  Bal  Bullier. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Arizona  appeared  at  the  box 
office  and  charged  in  with  a  whoop  which  raised  the 
hair  under  the  silver  helmet  of  the  cavalryman  on 
guard.  It  was,  however,  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when 
Fradley,  his  eyes  bulging  with  fright,  sidled  into  the 
lobby,  bought  his  ticket  and  sought  the  den  of  the 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  291 

female  harpies  who  take  checks  for  wraps.  He 
slipped  the  sealskin  overcoat  from  his  meagre  frame, 
and  a  harpy  grabbed  it.  He  hurriedly  thrust  the 
zinc  check  into  his  pocket,  smoothed  his  love-locks 
and  tripped  timidly  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  which 
leads  down  to  the  floor  of  the  ballroom.  Here  a 
coarse  red-necked  man  relieved  him  of  his  ticket, 
and  he  stood  face  to  face  with  the  gilded  demon — 
Vice  !  For  a  moment  he  thought  of  flight  ;  then 
something  on  the  floor  below  made  him  blush  vio- 
lently. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way !  You're  blocking  the 
stairs  !  "  shouted  the  red-necked  man,  but  Fradley 
did  not  hear  him  in  the  din.  Then  a  brutal  cavalry- 
man seized  Fradley  and  hustled  him  down  the  stairs. 

"  Stop  !  "  screamed  the  poet,  but  somebody  in  the 
crowd  below  caught  him  by  the  leg.  It  was  a  fear- 
ful struggle.  The  red-necked  man  vociferated,  the 
soldier  pushed  and  the  masked  figure  below  hauled 
away  at  his  feet.  Fradley  felt  he  was  losing  con- 
sciousness ;  the  scene  swam  before  him.  For  one 
awful  moment  he  saw,  in  the  gaudy  surging  masses 
below,  the  glittering  pit  of  hell — his  ears  were 
stunned  by  the  crash  of  demoniac  music, — then  some- 
thing gave  way,  the  soldier  snickered,  and  Fradley 
found  himself  jerked  headlong  into  the  gulf,  only  to 
be  caught  in  the  arms  of  a  stalwart  personage  wear- 
ing a  false  nose  and  a  tin  crown  over  one  ear. 

"  Welcome  to  Pandemonium  !  "  yelled  the 
crowned  personage,  as  he  banged  Fradley  over  the 
head  with  a  bladder;  "  and  may  I  ask,  Monsieur, if 


2Cj2  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

you  generally  come  into  a  Royal  Presence  on  your 
head  ?" 

Before  Fradley  could  reply,  a  Nautch  Girl  caught 
him  around  the  neck  and  swung  him  into  the  crush 
of  dancers.     He  struggled  violently. 

"What!  you  won't  dance?''  she  cried,  with  a 
stamp  of  her  bangled  sandals. 

"  No,  I  won't !  "  cried  Fradley,  perspiring  with 
terror. 

"  You  shall !  "  she  insisted. 

Then  a  clown  with  his  face  all  white,  came  squeal- 
ing and  tumbling  along,  neatly  floored  him  in  an  un- 
expected flip-flap,  picked  him  up,  and  laying  his 
chalky  face  on  his  shoulder,  shrieked  and  sobbed, 
"  oh,  mon  frere  !  mon  frere !  "  This  was  the  last 
straw.  With  a  wrench  and  a  twist  he  freed  himself 
and  fled  to  the  gallery,  where  he  found  a  vacant  table 
and  sat  down  to  collect  his  thoughts.  Little  by 
little  his  fright  gave  way  to  anger.  A  waiter  dusted 
the  chalk  from  his  coat  and  told  him  that  there  was 
a  mirror  behind  the  musicians'  box.  Here  he 
smoothed  his  hair  and  rebuttoned  his  collar,  keeping 
a  suspicious  eye  on  two  young  ladies  of  the  ballet 
who  were  practising  strange  steps  before  an  adjoin- 
ing mirror. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  one  of  them,  ""  have  the  good- 
ness to  tell  me  whether  I  do  the  "  grand  6cart,"  as 
well  as  "  La  Goulu." 

"  What  is  the  "  grand  ecart,"  asked  Fradley  stiffly. 

He  was  instructed,  and  he  withdrew  in  haste  to 
his  table  in  the  gallery. 


ANOTHER   GOOD   MAN.  293 

A  quadrille  was  in  progress  below.  He  stood  on 
his  chair  to  see  and  then  sat  down  again,  not  to  see. 
This  manoeuvre  he  repeated  at  intervals  and  ended 
by  remaining  on  his  chair,  "  For,"  he  argued,  "  it's 
life, — and  an  artist  must  be  broad." 

Before  the  quadrille  ended,  he  was  playfully- 
toppled  from  his  chair  by  a  Spanish  dancer,  who 
took  his  place  and  offered  to  reward  him  with  a  kiss 
which  he  refused.  After  a  while  the  dancer  skipped 
off  with  an  Arab,  and  a  feeling  akin  to  loneliness 
took  possession  of  Fradley. 

The  dull  red  and  blue  woodwork  of  the  Bullier 
was  hung  with  the  banners  of  all  nations.  In  the 
musicians'  gallery,  Conor  and  his  orchestra  banged 
away  at  the  "  March  into  Hell,"  and  the  tables 
trembled  with  the  crash  of  the  brass.  The  floor  was 
crowded  to  suffocation.  Imbecile  shrieking  clowns 
in  ruffles  and  powder,  went  madly  bounding  about, 
Turks  footed  it  with  Russian  peasant  girls,  gen- 
darmes wearing  false  noses  and  enormous  moustaches 
locked  arms  with  "  ces  messieurs "  of  the  Vilette 
who  wore  the  charming  costume  of  that  quarter  in- 
cluding "  favoris  "  and  "  rouflaquettes."  Students  in 
evening-dress  galloped  about  playing  circus,  and  a 
pretty  Cupid,  mounted  on  one  young  gentleman's 
shoulders,  challenged  a  shepherdess,  mounted  on 
another,  to  a  race,  so  away  they  went,  crying  "  Allons  ! 
houp  !  houp  !  "  From  a  near  corner  a  monotonous 
chanting  arose,  where  some  thirty  students  were 
squatting  in  a  ring  beating  upon  drums  with  their 
hands.     It   was   the  rhythmic    air  of   an    Egyptian 


294  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

dance  which  was  being  executed  in  the  middle  by  a 
willowy  white-veiled  girl  who  swung  two  gilded 
scimitars.  Like  sheet  lightning  the  broad  blades  of 
the  swords  flashed  above  the  silver-flecked  veil,  as 
her  slender,  supple  figure  swayed  to  the  music. 

"  Brava  !  Bis  !  Bis  !  "  they  cried,  and  the  girl,  with 
eyes  like  stars  above  her  veil,  whirled  the  scimitars 
into  circles  of  flame.  Suddenly  she  stood  rigid,  there 
came  a  clash  of  steel,  the  swords  lay  crossed  before 
her,  and,  as  the  minor  air  swelled  out,  she  whipped 
off  her  veil  and  sent  it  floating  and  billowing  above 
her  head  while  her  little  feet  began  to  move  to  and 
fro  among  the  swords,  blade  upward  on  the  floor. 
The  applause  was  deafening  as  she  tossed  back  her 
head  and  said  with  the  merriest  laugh,  "  Je  veux 
bien  boire  un  bock  !  " 

Clifford  jumped  up  from  the  floor  and  picking  up 
the  swords  presented  them  on  one  knee. 

"Tiens!  c'est  toi,  mon  ami  ?" 

"  Yes.  Forgive  me  the  cab,  Cexile,"  he  murmured, 
drawing  her  half  resisting  arm  through  his. 

"  I  can't  forgive  you.  It  was  too  ridiculous  to  sit 
there, — and  somebody  holding  the  hind  wheels." 

"  Oh,  Cecile—" 

"  No— no  !  " 

"  Ma  petite  Cecile—" 

"  By  Jove,  she's  going  to  forgive  him,"  said  Elliott 
to  Rowden  who  was  dancing  attendance  on  the  pretty 
Cupid. 

"  Mr.  Rowden,  I  insist,"  pouted  the  Cupid,  shaking 
her  curls. 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  295 

"  But  I  don't  enjoy  playing  circus,"  pleaded  Row- 
den,  as  Boissy  pranced  proudly  by,  his  epaulettes 
over  his  ears,  bearing  Sara  as  Diana,  who  prodded 
him  on  with  a  silver-gilt  arrow. 

Then  Cupid  became  petulant  and  signified  her  in- 
tention of  seeking  another  steed,  and  presently 
Elliott  became  the  pleased  spectator  of  his  friend 
careering  about  in  company  with  similarly  burdened 
youths. 

"  I'm  not  in  it,"  sighed  Elliott,  until  he  spied  Mar- 
got,  who  stamped  her  foot  and  called  for  a  steed. 
Shortly  afterwards  he  joined  the  rest  in  feats  of  the 
haut-£cole. 

To  say  that  Fradley  was  enjoying  himself  is  not 
strictly  true.  Once  every  ten  minutes  he  subdued 
some  bound  of  a  tortured  conscience  with  the 
thought;  "artists  must  be  broad  ; "  but  except  for 
these  encounters  with  his  doubts  he  found  it  all 
secretly  thrilling  and  pleasant.  He  was  lonely,  in 
a  way,  yet  he  hardly  knew  what  he  would  want  of 
company.  As  for  speaking  to  any  of  those  bright- 
eyed  young  persons  who  now  and  then  slapped  his 
face  with  a  rose  or  rattled  a  tambourine  over  his 
hat, — that  was  out  of  the  question.  No,  indeed  ! 
He  would  look  on,  "  because  an  artist  must  be 
broad,"  but  he  had  no  desire  to  contaminate  him- 
self with  a  word  or  a  smile  from  such  as  they.  No, 
indeed  !  No  !  No  !  There  seemed  to  be  some  need 
of  repeating  this  frequently  to  himself,  but  curiously 
enough  it  did  not  assuage  his  loneliness.  Once  a 
black-eyed  Mephistopheles  poked  her  pointed  red 


296  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

feather  into  his  eyes  and  then  begged  pardon  with 
an  irresistible  smile  which,  fortunately  for  history, 
came  several  centuries  too  late  for  St.  Anthony. 

What  Fradley  might  have  done  had  not  the  girl 
been  carried  off  by  Garland,  nobody  can  tell.  He 
felt  a  thump  in  his  throat  and  a  murderous  feeling 
toward  Garland,  and  yet  he  was  sure  that  he  had 
been  about  to  wither  temptation  with  a  frown.  Car- 
rington  spoke  in  his  ear. 

"  Look  at  Sara  !     Magnificent !  "  Fradley  turned. 

Seated  upon  a  table  in  the  gallery  with  the  air  of 
an  Empress,  Sara  received  the  homage  of  the  Quar- 
ter. Behind  her  C£cile  and  Clifford  waved  gaudy 
fans  and  imbibed  champagne  in  tall  goblets.  The 
curly-headed  Cupid  and  the  black-eyed  Mephis- 
topheles  were  endangering  their  silken  hose  by  slid- 
ing down  the  balustrade,  aided  and  applauded  by  a 
Japanese  maid  and  three  fairies. 

Fradley  had  eyes  for  Sara  only.  "  Vulgar,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Carrington  doubtfully.  A  great  wave 
of  loneliness  swept  over  Fradley. 

"  Shameless  !  "  he  gasped. 

Then  Sara's  strange  grey  eyes  met  his  across  the 
whirl  of  the  carnival ;  he  saw  her  throw  up  her 
haughty  head  and  send  to  him  a  wonderful  smile, — a 
smile  that  scorched  and  yet  healed,  and  in  an  agony 
of  doubt  he  opened  his  lips  to  cry  again  to  Carring- 
ton— to  the  world,  "shameless  !  "  but  his  lips  were 
dry,  and  his  voice  died  in  his  throat  with  a  click. 

The  music  clashed ;  C6cile  dropped  her  glass  and 


ANOTHER   GOOD   MAN.  297 

clasped  Clifford's  hand  ;  Sara  sprang  into  Boissy's 
arms, — there  was  a  rush,  a  tempest  of  cheers,  and 
Fradley,  jostled  and  hustled  clung  to  a  pillar, — 
clung  a  moment  only,  then  was  swept  away,  into 
the  throng. 

"  Dance  !  "  cried  a  breathless  voice  behind  him, 
and,  "  dance  !  "  cried  another  voice  beside  him.  He 
tried  to  stem  the  tide, — he  shut  his  eyes,  but  soft 
arms  were  around  his  neck  and  a  puff  of  perfume 
smote  him  like  a  blow  in  the  face,  and  "  dance ! 
dance  !  "  cried  a  voice  in  his  ear.  He  knew  the  voice, 
his  eyes  flew  open  and  he  cried  out,  but  "  dance ! 
dance!  dance!  "  she  panted,  and  her  burnished  hair 
flew  in  his  face.  He  saw  the  crescent  on  her  brow, 
he  saw  the  strange  grey  eyes  below  it.  Each  sep- 
arate hair  in  the  fiery  mane  flashed  like  a  perfumed 
flame,  and  he  reeled  and  steadied  himself  with  a 
soft  hand  that  sought  his  own,  while  the  orchestra 
thundered  and  the  rosy  ring  of  faces  floated  away, 
away,  into  an  endless  rosy  chain. 

When  it  was  that  he  drank  something,  he  could 
not  remember.  He  was  very  thirsty,  and  iced  cham- 
pagne was  but  a  temporary  relief. 

"  Good  ! "  cried  Boissy  with  a  stare,  "  so  you're 
going  in  for  it !  " 

Fradley  looked  at  him,  but  Sara  dropped  her  hand 
on  his  arm  saying,  "  Toi,  tu  sais  bien  dans<_r,"  and 
turning  scornfully  to  Boissy,  "  go  away.  You  dance 
like  a  gendarme  !  " 

The  music  began  again,  and  with  the  music 
bedlam  broke   loose.     There    was    no   pretence   of 


298  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

sets.  After  a  couple  had  danced  themselves  into 
exhaustion,  they  climbed  over  the  balcony  and 
watched  the  others.  Cecile  tossed  her  veil  into  the 
human  whirlpool  below,  laughing  delightedly  as  the 
silver  stars  were  rent  from  it  and  sent  scaling  into 
the  air.  Rowden  howled  through  the  din  for  Clif- 
ford to  pledge  him,  and  smashed  glass  after  glass  in 
a  vain  effort  to  make  him  hear,  while  the  black-eyed 
Mephistopheles,  perched  on  Garland's  shoulders, 
poured  out  goblet  after  goblet  of  gold-dust  and 
flung  it  over  the  throng  until  heads  and  shoulders 
glittered  with  the  golden  scales.  Elliott  had  climbed 
into  the  orchestra  with  a  bottle  of  champagne,  and 
while  the  grateful  musicians  were  quenching  their 
thirst,  he  pounded  on  the  spare  cymbals  until  the 
handles  came  off  and  Monsieur  Conor  ejected  him. 

Then  in  the  height  of  the  delirium,  Arizona  shook 
the  walls  with  his  war-cry.  "  Aw  !  I'm  bad  !  b-b-a-a-d ! 
Me  teeth  is  choke-bored  an'  a  hair-trigger  works 
both  feet !  "  Fradley  heard  that  cry  and  trembled. 
It  came  nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Pick  up  the  dead  !  Pick  up  the  dyin',  an'  git 
the  souvenir!  " 

Sara  cried  :  "  Arizona,  va  t  'en  ! "  but  it  was  too 
late.  With  a  howl  from  Arizona  and  a  scream  from 
Fradley,  they  clinched  and  fell,  Arizona  on  top. 
He  remembered  that  he  punched  Arizona  and  in 
turn  received  a  tap  on  the  ear  which  made  him  for- 
get that  he  was  alive.  Garland  picked  him  up,  and 
when  consciousness  returned  he  saw  Sara,  furious, 
withering  Arizona  with  her  scorn. 


ANOTHER   GOOD    MAN.  299 

"Go!  "  she  cried,  pointing  to  the  door. 

Arizona,  humbled  and  dishevelled,  went. 

It  needed  much  cooling  liquid  to  put  Fradley 
back  where  he  had  been  prior  to  Arizona's  assault, 
and  that  condition  was  far  from  normal.  He  prof- 
fered menaces,  he  attempted  to  divest  himself  of  his 
coat,  but  Sara,  very  pale,  and  paler  still  after  each 
goblet  in  which  she  pledged  the  exalted  Fradley, 
took  possession  of  him  with  all  the  blindness  of 
sudden  caprice. 

Fradley  felt  that  his  hour, — the  hour  of  the  truly 
great,  had  struck.  Dimly  he  recalled  that  other 
Fradley,  the  normal  one,  timid  as  a  rabbit,  dreading 
battle,  loathing  brute  force.  Vaguely  he  remem- 
bered that  other  and  normal  Fradley,  moral,  tem- 
perate in  all  but  feeding.  And  he  scorned  him ! 
Buried  forever  let  him  be,  that  other  recreant  Frad- 
ley !  And  all  the  while  he  went  on  talking  with  the 
others,  capering  when  they  capered,  drinking  when 
they  drank,  returning  gibe  for  gibe,  defending  his 
own,  claiming  and  pushing  his  claim  with  threats — 
warlike  threats,  and  all  the  time,  dimly,  dully  com- 
miserating, scorning  that  other, — that  normal  Frad- 
ley. 

Later  he  revived  enough  to  have  a  pang  of  fright 
as  the  cold  air  of  the  boulevard  blew  in  his  face,  but 
the  cab  was  warm  and  cosey  and  he  sank  back  to  the 
cushions  with  a  sigh  of  content.  As  in  a  dream  he 
heard  the  rattle  of  wheels  and  the  cries  of  the  driver. 
Other  cabs  passed — endless  lines  of  them.  It  seemed 
centuries  before  his  cab  stopped  and  when  it  did  he 


3<D0  THE    HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

objected  to  leaving  it,  but  Sara  had  her  way,  alas 
now  as  hazy  as  his  own,  and  the  porter  who  opened 
the  door  for  them  at  the  Cafe  Sylvain,  winked  sol- 
emnly at  the  ancient  cabby,  who  only  shook  his 
white  head  and  drove  slowly  away. 


THE  HAUNTS  OF  MEN. 

ENVOI. 

The  rock-ribbed  Planet  drifts  across  the  Sun, 
Swarming  with  creatures  creeping  on  the  crust, 
Freighted  with  fears,  and  tears,  and  human  dust, 

Speaking  the  blank  star-beacons,  one  by  one. 

Tossed  on  the  ocean  of  Ten  Million  Nights, 
The  Moon  a  battered  battle-lantern  swings ; 
A  Meteor  a  battle-pennant  flings, 

Lost  in  the  ocean  of  Ten  Million  Lights. 

Down  to  the  Sea  in  Ships  !     Who  knows  ? — Who 
knows 
What  Unseen  Thing  shall   climb  the  mist-hung 

shrouds 
And  set  the  spread  of  splendid  crowding  clouds, 
And  light  the  signals  set  in  starry  rows? 

Deep  in  the  Black  Crypt  of  the  Universe 
A  feeble  thing  stood  sobbing  on  a  star ; 
"  I  live  !     I  live  !     'Tis  mine  to  make  or  mar  ! " 

And  Silence  was  the  Answer  and  the  Curse. 

Bee-haunted  blossoms  bud  and  bloom  at  Noon  ; 

Bird-haunted  meadows  belt  the  Seven  Zones ; 
301 


302  THE   HAUNTS   OF   MEN. 

And  under  all  lie  bedded  human  bones, 
And  over  all  still  swings  the  tarnished  moon. 

On  Men  and  Haunts  of  Men — if  all  Light  dies, — 
And,  where  a  million  stars  hang  tenantless 
Whence  the  last  ray  is  fled, — yet — none  the  less 

A  Million  Lamps  are  trimmed  for  other  Skies. 

Believe  it,  O  my  soul !     Arise  and  go 

Forth  among  Men  and  seek  the  Haunts  of  Men  ; — 
Nor  shalt  thou,  O  my  soul,  return  again 

To  tell  thou  knowest  naught ;  We  know  1  We  know ! 

R.  W.  C. 

April,  1896. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
202 


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